


The Crowned Dragon

by SomeKindofUnicorn



Series: To Love A Sword [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Dorne, Established Relationship, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Lyanna Stark Lives, POV Female Character, Targaryens - Freeform, Westerosi Politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-04-30 17:04:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14501577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomeKindofUnicorn/pseuds/SomeKindofUnicorn
Summary: It's one thing to crown a king, it's quite another to take a kingdom.All Lyanna wanted was to come home, but Dorne isn't home and she doesn't know who to trust. Even Arthur seems to be pulling away from her but the family and life she had built in Essos are gone forever. There can be no turning back.A continuation of an AU.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> So this work is a continuation of my AU universe where Lyanna lives and rescues Viserys and Daenerys in Braavos. You probably need to read the previous fics for context, but you might be able to dive right in with this one.
> 
> This is un-beta'd and my first time posting a chaptered fic in a while- so I'm definitely open to comments and concrit. The whole work is written and in the process of being edited and revised, so while this is a WIP, it's very unlikely to be abandoned. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

There were too many people here in Dorne, people Lyanna did not know, and could not trust. Prince Doran had welcomed them with a glorious banquet and a tourney, intending for news to be sent far and wide that Prince Viserys, heir of King Aerys II Targaryen had returned. Ever since then, knights and lords from all over the seven kingdoms had come to Dorne, some furtive, some openly, some alone, some bringing their whole households.

Many had supported his King Aerys in the rebellion, and lost lands for it. Others had grudges against their liege lords, or ambitions they thought a Targaryen King might help them achieve. Many had come from the Reach. The Tyrells had declared for Renly Baratheon, recently married to their daughter Maegery, but many of the smaller landed knights and minor houses disapproved. It was not right, they said, to set the younger brother against the elder. What claim did Renly have to the throne?

So, Lyanna was afraid. She worried constantly for Viserys, that someone would arrive who was not an ally and might make an attempt on his life. She worried for Daenerys, too. And for Jon, her son, thrust into a world had never known and Lyanna had barely prepared him for. Lyanna had not missed this life much in truth, with all its strictures on her behaviour, and never knowing where to turn or who to trust.

At some point since they had landed, Jon had acquired a dog. Lyanna did not know exactly where it had come from. He had named the dog Winter, and it followed him everywhere. It was a slender thing, with fine dark fur, a sandy coloured face, and large dark eyes. It was the sort of dog that Dornish princes took hunting in the desert with them, sent coursing after hares or the small deer that lived there.

He had a horse now, too, a Dornish Sandsteed called Fireheart, a gift from Prince Oberyn. He rode it out with the Dornish Princes, Quentyn, who was a few years older and Trystane, who was a little younger. He’d never had much chance to ride in Essos, but he’d taken to it naturally. Well, he was her son. He’d taken well enough to the princes as well. They seemed friendly enough, and if their lives had been vastly different until now then the glamour of the Sword of the Morning, and the Lost Prince, and even Lyanna’s own story had rubbed off on him enough that it did not seem to matter.

Arthur had even started teaching him to joust, when he had the time, which was not often. Jon dressed in clothes of bright silk and wore a sword of castle-forged steel on his hip. He was becoming a lord, before his mother’s eyes.

It should not have disturbed Lyanna as much as it did. She had dreamed this would happen for much of his life. Yet in those dreams he had always been dressed in finely woven wool, leather and furs. His cloak had been held with a pin in the shape of a wolf, not a dragon. The amour she had imagined for him had been plain, but the sword had not been. A greatsword, meant to be wielded two handed, with a wolf’s head on the pommel and blade that shone with ancient magics.

She shook her head against the vision. Jon was not really of the North. He had been borne in Dorne, and never been further north than Braavos, and they’d moved southwards, slowly, all his life. Besides, Ned had sons of his own, three of them, and Ice would likely go to the eldest, Robb, who even now had gathered an army of his own in the Riverlands. Robb and Jon were almost of an age, but Lyanna could not imagine Jon calling the banners and riding at the head of an army.

They had argued about his father, whilst they were on the ship, and now they were on land, Jon seemed pleased to have excuses to avoid his mother. That hurt but Lyanna did not know how to bridge the distance between them. She’d always had her reasons for not telling Jon and she could only hope that he might come to understand them in time. She hoped that he was happy with this new life, for there could be no going back to their old one now.

There were plans afoot to get Ned and his daughters out of King’s Landing. Prince Doran claimed to have friends there, even now, but all Lyanna had heard was that Ned was held in the black cells, which no-one could get free of. Brandon had been held in the black cells, before he died. Still, even if they could help his daughters, her nieces, that was something and it ought to have cheered her more than it did. In truth, she was afraid. Afraid to see Ned again, after all these years. Afraid that she never would.

They had been making plans for the coronation. Prince Doran wanted it to happen almost as soon as her brother was here to see it. She was thankful to the Dornishmen for helping her to get Ned and his daughters out of King’s Landing, but she worried about what would happen when he arrived. The Targaryens had killed their father and brother. Would he want to set another on the throne? Would he hate her for her part in it?

Arthur seemed even busier than she was. He seemed to want to personally interrogate each new lord and retinue that arrived to make sure they were loyal. He trusted almost no-one, claiming it would be too easy for spies to join their ranks or for assassins to get close to them. Lyanna knew he was right, but they both also knew that this war could not be won without men or allies. Arthur tried to make time for her. They went riding and hawking when they could, but he refused to share her bed or her chambers, not wishing to shame her or cause people to doubt Jon’s parentage.

In other circumstances, Lyanna might have enjoyed Dorne. It was too hot, but the women had more freedom here. They could inherit like men, fight alongside them sometimes and even take lovers, if they wished. She liked to go riding with Arthur, or with Dany or Princess Arianne and her ladies. The horses here were wonderful, and she was pleased to be able ride after so long when it had rarely been possible. But it felt like there was a distance growing between her and Arthur and her and Jon, and despite the new friendships she was offered, she felt lonely and afraid of the war to come.

Viserys was more distant still and Lyanna worried for him, too. She knew this had been a long-held dream of his, but it was one thing to dream of sitting on the Iron Throne and quite another to make it happen in reality. Lyanna worried he did not have the patience for politics or the stomach for what might come. She wished she could get him alone and make sure he was sure. Once he was crowned, there could be no going back. But Viserys was never alone, and Lyanna was always careful not to shame him in company.

 

One afternoon, Arthur and Prince Oberyn came to her together.

“There’s been word,” Arthur said, “Lord Stark and his daughter Lady Sansa are safely on a ship.”

“Just one daughter?” Asked Lyanna, frowning, “What of the other, Lady Arya?” The name felt strange on her tongue, a niece she had never met and only heard of in passing when asking sailors for news of home. All she knew of the Stark children were their names and ages and that Lady Sansa had been betrothed to Prince Joffrey.

“There has been no word about Lady Arya,” Said Prince Oberyn, “Nor any sign of her since her father was arrested. The Lannisters killed most of the household. No-one has said anything, but I fear the worst. I am sorry, Lady Lyanna.”

“Oh gods,” Lyanna let herself fall into Arthur’s offered embrace. Her niece had been so young, a child still. To be killed in a strange place so far from home. And Ned’s household. Lyanna must have known some of them when she had grown up in Winterfell.

“The ship will be here soon.” Arthur told her, stroking her hair, “It has been sighted near the Stepstones.”

Lyanna did not cry for the niece she had never met, but she let herself stay there, contained in the strength of his arms. For all these years, Arthur had meant safety. He felt like home.

“Your brother is alive.” Arthur told her, “You will see him again.”

Lyanna collected herself, “My thanks to you and your family, Prince Oberyn. This is an amazing thing you have accomplished.”

Prince Oberyn smiled and left, so that Lyanna could find comfort in Arthur for a few moments.

 

Arthur showed her a place on the high cliffs above Sunspear where she could wait and watch for the ship. He had a description of the ship, so she would know it, even at a distance. Lyanna should have been glad to see her family again, but instead she felt afraid. For so long, her family had been Jon and Arthur. Viserys and Daenerys too, though there had always been that slight distance between them. Lyanna supposed that the way she felt for them might be the way she would have felt for her nieces and nephews, had things been different. Instead, the Targaryens were almost children to her, and Lady Sansa was a stranger.

It would be many days before the ship would come into sight, but Lyanna liked to ride up on the cliffs, away from court. The path up was steep, rocky and dusty, and took focus to ride it safely. Once up there, though, there was a little shelter, like a shepherd’s hut and some scrub her horse could graze in. Lyanna could stare out over the sparkling sea, scouring the horizon. Up here, there was no-one to make demands of her or question her. As a child, she’d had many places to escape to in Winterfell. It was good to have one in Sunspear, too.

Sometimes Jon came to watch with her, but he preferred the company of the young men his own age. She told herself it was nice for him, good for him, even. In Essos, he had only had Viserys, who was much older, for the boys in the free cities often held foreigners in distain. If he had a friend, it was a commoner, a mercenary’s son, or a merchant’s. Here, he made friends with princes and the sons of great houses and it seemed like they were changing him.

He had born a scion of a great house and a royal one, Lyanna reminded herself. Becoming a nobleman was his birth-right. He had not been unhappy in Essos, but this was who he was meant to be, and he seemed to be enjoying it. That was for the best, as there could be no going back now.

Danaerys came with Lyanna more often. The court at Sunspear scared her a little. Like Jon, Essos was the only life she had ever known. Unlike Jon, she did not seem to thrive in Dorne. She was brave and put on a good show for her brother and the court, but Lyanna knew she was privately miserable. Lyanna worried it would only get worse. She had a measure of freedom, here in Dorne, and her life could only become more restricted. She would be Viserys’ queen and the centre of the court, however little she liked its flattery and intrigues.

“Lyanna,” Said Dany, softly, one day as they were riding up the steep, rocky path to watch for the ship, “You won’t leave me here alone, will you?”

“You won’t be alone.” Lyanna promised, “You’d have your brother and…”

Daenerys shook her head and looked down at her horse’s neck, “I don’t want to marry him. I’m scared.”

“What are you scared of?” Asked Lyanna, “You can tell me, little dragon, you can tell me anything.”

“I’m scared he’ll turn out like father. Everyone says how cruel and mad father was and Viserys… He’s changed since coming here. The lords all fawn over him, and it has made him arrogant and…” Dany looked away.

“Dany, Daenerys, my sweet,” Said Lyanna, “I’ve looked after you for close to ten years now and loved you like my own daughter. I promise you that you will never marry any man you have not chosen. If Viserys wants you, and you don’t want him, I promise we will find a way. I promise.”

Daenerys looked up at her in relief, “Is being a princess always hard?”

“I don’t know.” Said Lyanna, “I was only ever a lord’s daughter, and that was hard enough.”

“You married Prince Rhaegar,” Dany replied, frowning, “That made you a princess.”

“I was never at court.” Lyanna replied, “I spent months as Rhaegar’s wife, but we were always alone or nearly alone.”

She did not tell Dany that court would have been unbearable under such circumstances. That would not be helpful.

Instead, she said, “You’re good and you’re kind. You’ll have ladies in court and you’ll make friends among them. There will be feasts and dances like you’ve never seen. It won’t be so bad…”

“You ran away.” Said Dany, looking shrewd. It was half a question and half an accusation.

“I was betrothed to a man I barely knew, though I knew enough to know I did not want him. I ran away with your brother instead and look where that got me.”

“It got you Ser Arthur.” Said Dany, smiling now.

“And it lost me most of my family.” Replied Lyanna, “Not that you and Viserys and Jon and Arthur weren’t enough, only…”

“Look,” Said Daenerys, pointing at the horizon, “There’s a ship.”

 

Ned was sick. He’d taken a wound to his leg some time before his capture, and it had festered in the black cells. Prince Doran sent his personal Maester to attend him, but still Lyanna worried. Ned was weaker and thinner than she had ever seen him, and though he was younger than Ser Arthur, he looked older, the stresses of his tenure as hand carved into his brow. Lyanna sat with him and tried to talk about inconsequential things, about his wife, about his children, hoping that some of the lines on his face would ease. They almost never did.

There would be no coronation until her brother was well enough to attend it. Prince Doran was quite insistent about that. If the Starks backed Viserys as well, then it made his position all the more secure, and made things less risky for Dorne. Lyanna did not think about what would happen if Ned decided not to back Viserys. She definitely did not think about what might happen if Ned died. She understood Prince Doran’s position, but that did not mean she had to like it.

Dorne could raise maybe fifteen thousand soldiers. The land was sparsely populated and though not poor, it was not a wealthy kingdom either. They might hire sellswords, but they could not afford the highest prices, and sellsword companies were quick to change their allegiances if the other side brought more coin. The North might have twenty thousand, thirty thousand fighting men, and though they would not send them all south, if Ned could bring the Riverlands as well, he could make Viserys’ forces more than twice as large, as well as splitting the risk and the cost of the adventure.

They had spoken about it, briefly, but with Ned unwell, Lyanna was reluctant to press him. All Lyanna could do was send a raven north, letting Winterfell and Riverrun know he yet lived, and his orders for were his wife and eldest son to hold the North against all enemies, no more. Robb, her nephew, would be of an age with Jon, or thereabouts. Lyanna had never met him, but she could not imagine ordering Jon to hold a kingdom that covered half of Westeros. Then again, Robb had called the banners and built an army by himself. Lyanna could not imagine Jon doing that either.

And then, there was Sansa. The poor girl was courteous to a fault but very timid around much of the court, especially the men. It was clear she had not been well treated in King’s Landing since her father’s arrest. Lyanna had seen fading bruises around her ribs and on the top of her arms. They must have come from the Prince, for surely no-one else would dare to strike his betrothed. It helped explain the false smile Sansa pasted on her face, and the almost desperate precision with which she acted out her courtesies.

Lyanna felt sorry for her, but she did not know what to do with her. The girl was nothing like any northwoman Lyanna had ever met. And yet she had survived King’s Landing and the Red Keep as the daughter of a traitor. That was not nothing. If Sansa’s education had been anything like Lyanna’s, no-one would have taught her how to act in a nest of snakes, or what to do when there was no-one around she could trust. The Northmen held their honour dearly and they would not kill a child they had welcomed into their home. In the south it was different.

For lack of another solution, Lyanna set Sansa up as a lady-in-waiting to Daenerys. Dany was sweet and kind, and even more lost than Sansa at the court in Sunspear. If she was to be a queen, she would need ladies around her, just as Viserys needed young men around him. Viserys had half the young men in Dorne vying for his attention but many of the young ladies were too wild for Dany, and most of them paid more attention to Princess Arianne.

It worked better than Lyanna might have hoped. Sansa taught Daenerys courtly arts Lyanna had never bothered with, like dancing, and playing the high harp. In return, Dany was kind to her, and the two seemed to make good friends. They delighted over new silk dresses together and gossiped about which of the knights and lord’s sons were the most handsome. If they rode out or hawked together, neither was an especially strong rider, so no-one was left behind.

It had been two weeks before Ned had fully recovered from his fever, and the Maesters had been sure that he might keep his leg. Even then, he was ill and weak, and not to be greatly taxed. The delay, she knew, suited Prince Doran. With every week that passed, more knights and minor lords flocked to their cause, some from as far away as the Riverlands and the Vale. It also gave more time for Lord Renly to commit to fighting Lord Stannis, and with them both engaged, and two armies between the Lannisters and Dorne, their position was all the more secure.

But Ned had to be persuaded to support Viserys. And that was Lyanna’s task.

Ned’s bedchamber was nicely appointed, with a balcony that looked out over the tangled streets of Sunspear. A soft breeze blew in off the sea, meaning the room felt merely warm, instead of oppressively hot. As they ate breakfast together, they could look out over the city, with its strange houses of red mud and sandy stone and hear the strange accents of the calls of the first merchants in the market.

Eventually, Lyanna had to brave the subject of politics, “Stannis has named himself king, and denounced Joffrey as a bastard born of incest.”

“It’s true.” Ned said, “That was the secret Jon Arryn died for. Stannis is Robert’s rightful heir.”

“His younger brother, Lord Renly, has married Lady Margaery Tyrell, and named himself king as well.” Lyanna told him, “Though he has no claim at all, he has the men of the Reach and the Stormlands, by far the largest army.”

“Fool of a boy,” Said Ned, rolling his eyes, “He’s no more fit to be king than…”

“Than Robert?” Suggested Lyanna with a raised eyebrow, “He took the throne by force of arms, after all, and some would say the Targaryens have the right to it still.”

“You know what King Aerys was, what he did to father and Brandon.” Ned reminded her.

“Viserys is not his father.” Lyanna said, “Arthur and I have raised him since he was a boy, abandoned in Braavos. He fought with Arthur, the last few years in the disputed lands.”

“He’s a good sword, then?” Ned asked, “If Arthur taught him? And Jon too?”

“Jon is younger.” Said Lyanna, “And not a mercenary yet. But yes, Arthur has taught him to fight.”

“Good.” Ned nodded, “And Arthur has been good to you?”

Lyanna looked away, suddenly a little ashamed, as she had never been made to feel by the Dornish, “We never married. We could not do it openly, under our own names, so there didn’t see much point. But we have lived as man and wife all this time, and he has cared for us all.”

Ned nodded again. Even Eddard Stark could not find fault with the honour of the Sword of the Morning.

“There have been no children?” Asked Ned.

Lyanna shook her head, “I have quickened a few times, but it never stayed. The midwives I’ve spoken to, they say Jon’s birth might have caused permanent damage.”

“I’m sorry.” Said Ned.

Lyanna gave him a smile, “I’m sad for Arthur. He might want a son of his own, for all he took Kingsgaurd vows, once, but I have Jon, and then there was Dany and Viserys. It was enough.”

“You love them?” Ned asked, “Like your own? Is that why you’re here?”

“Not quite like Jon.” Lyanna admitted, “Well, Dany, maybe. She was very young when we found them. Viserys was older, and he remembers his own mother, but I suppose I think of him as a very treasured ward.”- She thought of Jon Arryn, who had raised his banners against his king, rather than send his own treasured wards to die- “And he guessed who Jon’s father was many years ago, but kept the secret. He cares for Jon, and Arthur and I. He wants Jon to be his heir, should he take the throne.”

Ned raised an eyebrow, “Not Daenerys?”

“He means to marry her.” Lyanna replied, “For all Prince Doran might wish otherwise, I do not think he will be swayed on it. He’s a Targaryen. They’re not like the rest of us.”

“But he’s sane?” Asked Ned.

Lyanna nodded, “As sane as anyone who lost half his family at the age of seven and has feared assassination all his life.”

Ned nodded. Lyanna could practically see the thoughts on his face.

“I do not love Stannis, as I loved Robert.” Said Ned, “I would have put him on the throne, for Robert’s sake, and he would not have been a loved king. Then again, the people loved Robert, and he was not a good king, in the end.”

Lyanna nodded, pouring them both some more honeyed milk.

“Why are you here, Lya?” Asked Ned, finally.

“Because Viserys wanted to come and I did not want to be left behind.” Lyanna replied, and then paused, “I wanted to come home, Ned, and this was the only way. And Jon wanted to come.”

Ned nodded.

“I have to think of Jon,” Lyanna continued, “And his prospects. If there is a Baratheon on the throne, he can never live in Westeros, nor be acknowledged as my trueborn son.”

“Prince Rhaegar already had a wife,” Said Ned, though his voice was gentle.

“He married me, before a heart tree, and Viserys will acknowledge it when he is crowned. The Targaryens have always been different.” Lyanna replied, firmly, “Rhaegar had his reasons for what he did, Ned.”

Ned frowned at her, “I cannot imagine what they might be. He had a son, and if he had wished to put Princess Elia aside, he could have followed the proper channels.”

Lyanna had heard people say as much already, Prince Doran among them.

“I know.” Said Lyanna, “I do know. And none of it was worth what happened… after… We were both young and selfish, but Rhaegar… He believed he was doing the right thing.”

“How could he think that?” Ned asked, his voice not quite angry, but less gentle than it had been.

“There were prophecies.” Said Lyanna, “He had dreams. He thought he needed a third child to help prevent the end of the world.”

“What?” Whatever Ned had been expecting, it wasn’t that.

“It’s a long story.” Said Lyanna, pushing food around her plate, “I don’t like to think about it. I don’t like to speak of it.”

Ned sighed, “You will have to speak of it, to people more sceptical than me, many times, before this is over.”

Lyanna hid her face in her hands, “I know, Ned. It’s just hard… our stupidity tore apart the realm.”

Ned’s hand found hers. It was large, rough and calloused and scarred. It reminded her of Arthur’s hands. It reminded her of father.

A sob shook through her body.

“He believed in prophecy.” Lyanna said, “He had dreams. Like Howland. They even spoke about them, at the tourney at Harrenhal, and please don’t ask me about that Ned, because I can’t talk about it right now. None of that was important, only that Prince Rhaegar spoke to Howland Reed and they’d both dreamed of the end of the world. Of the Long Night, though Rhaegar didn’t call it that.”

Ned’s frown had deepened, but he squeezed Lyanna’s hand.

“The Targaryens had an old story, about the dragon lords fighting back the cold dark with fire and blood.” Said Lyanna, “They call it the song of ice and fire, I think. With the dragons gone, and the long night coming… there was a prophecy, too, about the return of the dragons- the prince that was promised, but the dragon must have three heads.”

Lyanna shook her head, “I know none of this really makes sense. Rhaegar could explain what he believed better than me, but he thought Aegon was the prince that was promised, but he needed two sisters. He had Rhaenys, he needed Visenya. And Rhaegar had the fire, now he needed the ice. He dreamed of a girl, a Targaryen girl, riding dragons. It wasn’t Rhaenys. He knew there had to be another, and Elia couldn’t have more children, so he chose me.”

“And what about Robert?” Asked Ned. There was no accusation in his voice, just curiosity.

Lyanna turned her face away, “You know I did not want to marry Robert. Rhaegar offered me… a way out… a life of freedom I couldn’t have any other way. He would have let me go, that first night, if I had asked him to. But I chose to go with him.”

Ned said nothing to that.

“I knew he was wrong, as soon as Jon was born a boy. Everything was wrong.” Lyanna’s shoulders began to shake as she forced back sobs.

“If I had done my duty…”

Neither spoke for a long time. It wasn’t silent. Lyanna could hear the sounds of the castle and the city around them. But Ned was silent, and there was judgement in his eyes. Ned, her brother, had always been kind. Eddard the lord had to be colder.

“Aerys had to die.” Ned said, finally, “He mad. If it hadn’t been you and Brandon, it would have been something else. Rhaegar should have known better. But you were a child. He shouldn’t have taken you.”

Ned’s hand cupped her cheek, and Lyanna leant into it, then pressed her lips to it. Again, neither spoke for a while, but this time it was a much more comfortable silence.

Ned picked at a little more breakfast, “I will speak to your Prince Viserys. Then we will see.”

“The Martells will take it ill if you do not support him.” Began Lyanna.

“That may be.” Said Ned, “But I will not have a part in putting another mad king upon the throne, and if they wish to kill me for it…”- Ned straightened his shoulders- “At least I will have seen you before I died.”

“And Sansa?” Asked Lyanna, “What about her?”

“You will see her safe, Lyanna. You must get her home.” Ned replied. Lyanna was not sure what she had done to inspire such trust.

“I promise.” She said. Ned had made her a promise, once, and kept it. She would do the same. “I’ll bring Viserys with me, on the morrow. He is young, and his head is full of dreams, but he is not cruel, or mad.”

Ned nodded agreement, and Lyanna rose, crossing the room to kiss his brow, “Thank you, brother, for all you have done for me.”

He caught her hand in his own, “I will always keep you safe, Lya, as long as there is breath in my body.”

Lyanna smiled and took her leave.

 

Viserys came with her the next day at midmorning.

“You know what your father was,” Lyanna told him, awkwardly, “And you know what he did to my father and brother. Ned, Lord Eddard Stark, he cannot have a part in putting another mad king on the throne, but once he’s seen you, he’ll know, Viserys. You are the best of the Targaryens.”

Viserys looked at her then, his eyes wide. They had paled a little over the years, more lilac than violet now, “My brother, Rhaegar-“

“You.” Replied Lyanna, firmly, “Rhaegar was not his father, but he was… he was not always a good man, Viserys.”

Viserys frowned then, “Did my brother dishonour you?”

They had never really spoken of Rhaegar before.

“Never.” Replied Lyanna, “I went with him willingly. I listened to all his promises and it was like we were in a song together. The song of ice and fire.”- she laughed at herself- “I was foolish and young and even I knew he was starting a war, but Rhaegar cared for naught but his prophecies by then.”

“Some Targaryens were born with a gift of foretelling.” Said Viserys, “Mother once said it was what drove father mad. Rhaegar too?”

“He was never cruel with it.” Replied Lyanna, “But he was not…”

She sighed, trying to think of the words to describe Rhaegar, “You think of this thing you do, and you understand the consequences. You reckon the cost of it, in men’s lives. Rhaegar never did, or maybe he didn’t care. He thought he had foreseen the end of the world.”

“Do you think it worth the cost?” Viserys asked her.

Lyanna smiled, “I am selfish, for myself, for my son… And Ned does not think Stannis would be a such a very good king anyway.”

They entered Ned’s chambers.

Lord Eddard Stark rose, still a little awkward on his wounded leg, “Your grace.”

“Ah, not yet Lord Stark,” Viserys replied, “I am not crowned. We await your pleasure on that, it seems. Please do sit, I know your leg is not fully healed.”

“Prince Doran is a wise man not to rush into war.” Replied Ned, sitting slowly, “You would do well to heed his council.”

“Of course.” Said Viserys, “I try to heed all my councillors, including your lady sister. There would be a seat for you at my council, as well, should you wish it?”

Viserys had learned well, these past weeks, Lyanna realised. He had spent time charming men far pricklier than Ned, and it seemed he was good at it. Lyanna tried to see him as Ned would, not the youth she had raised, sheltered and comforted, when he would let her. He was a young man, tall and straight limbed, with a certain wiry strength to him. His face had the old, aristocratic, Targaryen look, with perhaps too many sharp edges to be truly handsome. He rarely looked kind, but beneath his brittle, hard won pride, there was a strength to him as there had been a softness in his brother.

“Lyanna tells me you know what your father was, and you are not the same.” Ned said, scrutinising Viserys.

“I hope never to be my father.” Viserys replied, “I was young, when he died, but I remember, some of it. I remember how he hurt my mother.”

Lyanna’s hand flew to her mouth then. She had not known that. Viserys had rarely spoken of his father and Lyanna had never pushed him on the subject.

“Tell me truthfully, Lord Stark, if you did think me mad, what would you do?” Viserys asked.

“I imagine I would not have any choice in the matter.” Ned replied, “If I will not stand with you, I would expect to be executed. My son is old enough to hold the north against the threats beyond the wall and he has brothers to come after him until he has a son of his own. And my death would be a sign to the other lords of Westeros.”

Viserys frowned, “The threats beyond the wall?”

“The wildlings.” Lyanna explained.

“They have found a new king, one they call Mance Rayder.” Explained Ned, “And though they may be poorly armed and worse organised, they are numerous, and the Night’s Watch is too weak to hold back an army of any kind alone. Before Robert made me come south, I thought I might have to take an army beyond the wall to deal with them.”

“I see.” Said Viserys, “But your son is not yet a man grown? He must be fourteen, like Jon?”

“He’s a Stark.” Replied Ned, with some conviction, “He will hold the North.”

“And I am a Targaryen,” Replied Viserys, “So what will I do, Lord Stark?”

Ned thought about it for a while, “In truth, there is little you can do now that the Baratheons and the Lannisters are not already doing. Lyanna said you fought with Ser Arthur in the disputed lands?”

“Yes.” Said Viserys.

“Then you know the cost of war.” Replied Ned.

“I do.” Agreed Viserys, “And I have wondered every day since I decided to try for the crown if I am doing the right thing, but… If I did not try, I would live my whole life a craven, running forever. I wanted to come home.”

“Indeed.” Said Ned.

“I would dishonour my family’s memory, the memory of my mother, who put her own crown on my head at Dragonstone.” Said Viserys.

Ned said nothing, looking at Viserys thoughtfully.

“Lady Lyanna said you did not favour Stannis Baratheon?” Asked Viserys.

“He is Robert’s heir.” Ned replied, “But I do not think the Baratheon men make good kings. Robert was a good general, but he had no patience for being king. Stannis would be different. He has a reputation as a hard, cold man.”

“And that is a bad thing?” Viserys wanted to know.

“If half of what they say is true, the people would rise up against him in a year.” Ned explained, “He would execute someone’s heir or try to shut all the whorehouses in King’s Landing, or something equally stupid. Besides, he has no sons, and only a sickly daughter. When he died, it would like as not be war again.”

“So, a king must win the love of his people you think?” Asked Viserys.

“Everyone was afraid of your father.” Ned replied, “And yet… But being loved doesn’t mean being weak or foolish. It means creating a safe land, where people can have faith in the law and have faith their lords will protect them, where everyone does their duty and conducts themselves with honour. A good lord, a good king, serves his people, as much as the other way around.”

Viserys listened to Ned politely, “I have not lived as a prince for some time, Lord Stark, so I can see the wisdom in your words.”

“It is a contract,” Ned continued, “Between the Lord and his people. They owe him their fealty and service, and do they deliver it, he owes them his protection and fair judgement. But more than that, he should know them, their fears and their hopes. It is not about becoming their friend, but one must understand a people to rule them.”

Viserys thought about this, for a time, studying Ned’s careworn face.

“I do not know how to persuade you that I will not be my father.” Viserys finally replied, “In truth, I live in fear of it myself. Even he was not always mad, they say.”

“No, your highness,” Said Ned, “It is clear to me you are not your father, and it seems you are willing to listen as well as speak. If it is your wish, I shall attend your coronation.”

“And kneel to me, as Torhen Stark did to Aegon the Conqueror?” Asked Viserys, with half a smile.

“I am no king,” Replied Ned, almost smiling back, “But yes, I will swear fealty to you as my king, your highness.”

A true smile crossed Viserys’ face at that. It was not the sort of smile that Lyanna had seen on his face for some time. It was the smile from when he had been a boy and had done well with his lessons. As he had grown older, it had become the smile for when Arthur complimented his sword play, or when he had enough coin to buy Daenerys some treat. It was the smile he had given her when he had put his first mercenary’s purse on the table.

Viserys was a good man and Ned could help him be a better one.

“And I shall reward your fealty, Lord Stark.” Said Viserys, “Prince Doran is to be my hand, and Prince Oberyn to command my army, but you could be my Master of Laws? And Prince Doran shall not travel with my army, but if you do not need to urgently return to the north…”

“You do me great honour.” Said Ned Stark, “And I think the situation in the North shall manage without me for a time.” 


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a coronation, and some actual Arthur/Lyanna content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, this is un-beta'd so please feel free to highlight any errors that you pick up on! Hope everyone enjoys this chapter. I promise, this story is completed and will eventually be posted in full- I'm traveling a lot at the moment though, so it's not always easy to update to a reasonable schedule.

Viserys’ coronation took place at the Great Sept of the Rising Sun in Sunspear, two weeks later. He used his mother’s crown, the one that Queen Rhaella had placed on his head herself so many years ago at Dragonstone. There had been talk of making a new crown, but Viserys insisted he did not want anything else. The crown itself appeared simple enough, but in truth was a delicate work of art, forged in yellow gold. In front, a dragon rose, spreading its wings wide. Its tail formed the circlet to hold the crown and on the wings were the seven rainbow gems for the seven gods of the faith.

Lyanna had a place of honour standing in the front of the crowd, there with Ned on one side and Arthur on the other. She had a new dress for the occasion, in white silk with silver embroidery to mark her as one of house Stark. Ned had his own clothes to match, and even Sansa had been given a pretty gown to wear. Arthur looked resplendent in the purple of his house, the crossed sword and falling star of House Dayne of Starfall picked out in silver on his surcoat.

Viserys was dressed in black velvet with accents of red silk, and the Targareyn dragon sewn with red gems across his chest. Daenerys was in red silk. It was not her best colour, but together they looked striking. The purple dye had long been washed from his hair, but it still bore the faintest hint of lilac. Dressed in black as he was, he half looked like he was made of twilight and moonbeams. A lost prince, from a song. Lyanna had known another prince who looked like that, once.

The dragon’s eggs that Viserys had won in the disputed lands were on display, as though they represented some truth of who Viserys was. No ordinary mercenary could have won them, it was said among the crowd, only a secret Targaryen prince.

All seventeen principle houses of Dorne pledged their fealty to Viserys, and so did House Stark of Winterfell. They were followed by representatives of at least a hundred minor houses and landed knights who had made their way to join Viserys’ cause. The common folk of Sunspear had turned out in their hundreds, and they cheered him loud and long when the crown was placed upon his head. None of them had ever seen a King crowned before, and many of them would never have seen a King at all. He was theirs and they loved him for it, even if only for that moment.

And before them all, he acknowledged his brother’s secret second marriage to Lyanna, making Jon a Targaryen prince and his heir. Jon had the right to use the Targaryen name and sigil and would be granted lands of his own in time. He announced Daenerys as his betrothed, as well. That had been a point of long contention with Doran, but Viserys would not be swayed, and had only promised that he would find Princess Arianne a worthy husband once he was king.

He promised them lands and glories, taken from their enemies. He promised to destroy the houses of Baratheon and Lannister and set his most loyal subjects to rule the Westerlands and the Stormlands. He promised a golden age of Targaryen restoration, with peace in the Seven Kingdoms and prosperity for all. It was a good speech. He could be man to follow, Lyanna thought. A young star, blazing bright against the night sky.

The coronation was followed by a tourney, to choose Viserys’ kingsgaurd. It seemed like a foolish waste when they were on the edge of war, but she understood that Prince Doran was playing for time. Stannis Baratheon’s army was in the Stormlands, and Renly had moved to face him, but they were not yet in battle, and no-one wanted the two brothers to unite and turn against them. Besides, the promise of a tourney and such great honours to be won had brought many young knights to their cause.

Arthur had argued against it, claiming that the Kingsguard should be chosen for their loyalty to Viserys, not just their skill at arms. The problem was, no-one knew Viserys. He had no childhood friends, as Arthur had been to Rhaegar and it was clear to everyone that Arthur himself did not want to serve. So, the tourney it was, starting with seven champions, hand picked by Prince Oberyn, and would end with seven knights to be sworn to the Kingsguard.

Over a hundred knights, from lord’s younger sons, to hedge knights of little renown, entered their names in the lists. To try and ensure their hearts were true, it had been decreed that there would be no ransoms or prizes beyond serving in the Kingsguard. Lyanna watched it all, from the royal pavilion near Viserys. King Viserys, as he was now. Beside her, Daenerys flinched each time some poor knight hit the ground, but Sansa watched straight backed and unsmiling, and did not look away.

“I saw a tourney before, in King’s Landing.” She told Daenerys, “And a man died there. He was called Ser Hugh of the Vale, and Ser Gregor Clegane, the mountain who rides, put a lance through his throat. Ser Loras of Highgarden defeated him later, but Ser Gregor is no true knight, and he tried to kill Ser Loras. It was the Hound who saved Ser Loras, he is Gregor’s own brother, and he was very noble that day-“

It put Lyanna in mind of another tourney, long ago, fought in the shadow of a great black castle. That had been where she had first met Rhaegar. That tourney had changed the course of her life forever and changed the fate of the Seven Kingdoms. She wondered if this tourney would be even half so significant.

The fighting lasted for three days, but by the end of it, King Viserys had seven knights for his Kingsguard. There was Ser Walton Merryweather, a great-nephew of King Aerys’ exiled hand, Lord Owen Merryweather. He was in his twenties and seemed strong and capable. His face was marred slightly by a twice broken nose, but he had comely reddish-brown curls and an easy smile. For the sake of his great-uncle, Viserys named him Lord Commander.

Behind him was Ser Hiam, who styled himself “of the Sunset”, but in truth was little more than a hedge-knight. He was young and handsome, with his golden skin, night dark hair, and striking aquiline nose. Even so, he had blushed and stammered when presented to the king and bowed so low that his forehead nearly touched the dais on which Viserys sat. Despite his lowly status, he was a skilled rider and had defeated all his opponents convincingly.

Then came Ser Daemon Sand, the bastard of Godsgrace. His skin was lighter, and his eyes were blue, but he was no less handsome than Ser Hiam. He was of an age with Princess Arianne, and it was rumoured that he had once been her lover. Certainly, there seemed some fondness between them and Lyanna found herself wondering how long he might stay true to his vows. However, his was also rumoured to be among the best swords in Dorne, and Prince Oberyn seemed pleased at his inclusion.

The next knight was also from Dorne. His name was Ser Syrrek Santagar, from a minor branch of that house. His face was splashed with freckles and he looked quite young, though Lyanna was assured he had been a knight for a few years at least. He had ridden well enough and shown great skill when his bouts had called for it. He had a bandage about his upper arm, where he had taken a small wound, but he seemed hale enough when presented to Viserys.

The other knights were not from Dorne. There was Ser Norras Ruthermont, with five black stars on his shield, who had come all the way from the Vale. After him came the eldest of the knights, Ser Clemmont Risley of the Reach, who must have been nearly as old as Ned and Arthur. He had made his experience tell, though, and put down seven opponents on the last day of fighting. Ser Alocin Buckwell came last. His family had stayed loyal to the Targaryens to the last during Robert’s Rebellion, though he had been too young to fight. He had taken a great gash across his face in his last fight, and the maesters feared he might yet lose an eye. Though he swayed as he bowed to King Viserys, he refused all offers of help.

Arthur escorted Lyanna back to her rooms that night, acting the picture of chivalry, letting her steal only a single kiss in a dark corner of a stairway.

“We have a Kingsguard then,” He said, “I half think you could do a better job of it.”

Lyanna laughed, “I helped scare off those bandits, when we rode to Tyrosh.”

“You did.” Agreed Arthur, “And defended the house in Myr from thieves more than once.”

“Do you miss it?” Lyanna asked.

“I see more of you now, and the children.” Said Arthur.

“And have less of me,” Lyanna replied, taking his hand, meaning to lead him to her bed.

“I cannot, my lady, not while your brother sleeps above.” He replied, gallantly.

Lyanna frowned, “Prince Oberyn…”

“Prince Oberyn is a prince,” Arthur explained, solemnly, “And Ellaria Sand is a bastard. You are the daughter of a great house.”

He permitted her a tender goodnight kiss, then pulled away, “We’ll speak of this when there is more time.”

“As you say,” Said Lyanna, searching for haughty, and not finding it. Arthur shut her bedchamber door, a sadness in his eyes. Lyanna pressed her back against it, forcing herself not to sob. She could not lose Arthur, not after everything they had been through together. If someone had said something…

“To hell with them,” Lyanna cursed, fighting against tears.

She had slept alone for many nights, when Arthur had been away as a sellsword, but she had never felt as lonely then as she did now, curled in a small, sad ball in the middle of her silken sheets.

 

Five days later, the army marched. Crowning Viserys was a provocation. For anyone who’s claim came through Robert, it was a reminder that only one family had ever held the Seven Kingdoms together, and their name was Targaryen, not Baratheon. But Viserys would not truly be king until he sat on the Iron Throne in the Red Keep. And King’s Landing could not be taken while sitting in the relative safety of Sunspear.

Viserys was surrounded by his new Kingsguard. Lyanna still doubted the wisdom of choosing seven unknown men to guard the king, but they all seemed to take their vows seriously, and Ser Arthur watched over them all. She had refused to be left behind in Sunspear and so she and Dany and Sansa all rode with the army. King Viserys would not leave his sister-betrothed behind, and Ned would not leave Sansa. They were not the only women with the army. Many Dornish men had brought their paramours, including the prince himself, and a few considered themselves fighters. Then there were all the usual maids and cooks and camp followers as well.

The army trailed behind them, a long river of shining silver and bright banners. There were ten thousand Dornish spears, and maybe a thousand horse, plus some five hundred bought Myrish crossbow men, and just under three thousand men who had come in the retinues of the lords and knights who had joined their army. Near on fifteen thousand men was not a bad army, but Ned insisted on caution, and Arthur agreed. It pleased her that at least they got on well together, even if they did always seem pessimistic.

Most of the army had more the mood of a festival. King Robert had never been well liked in Dorne, and the other knights among the army claimed to be his enemies. Young soldiers tried to outdo each other with martial feats, those with good voices sang along the way, and there was always someone calling out a jest to a friend. Most of the men would have been far too young to fight during Robert’s Rebellion, and Dorne had largely been untouched by war since then. For them, it was all a great adventure, just a lark. They had their shining new king and their dreams of glory. They had not yet reckoned what it would cost.

“Tywin Lannister can raise twice as many men as we have, just from the Westerlands.” Said Ned, “That’s ignoring whatever they can raise from the Crownlands or hire. Renly has most of the Reach and the Stormlands, that must give him fifty thousand men or more. Stannis has less than us but he has a large fleet and a strong claim.”

“We must hope that Stannis and Renly commit to battle. Stannis cannot win, but he might reduce Renly’s forces,” Arthur said, “But even then, Renly will likely still have more men than us. It may be the Tyrells are yet reluctant to fight against a Targaryen, but we cannot count on that.”

“Lord Tywin cannot send all his forces against us,” Lyanna suggested, trying to bring a note of optimism to the conversation, “He must surely send men to defend King’s Landing, and he will not want to leave his own lands vulnerable to attack from the north or the east.”

“That is so,” Arthur allowed, “And if we can entice a smaller force up into the Red Mountains, we may yet win a victory.”

“A victory is not a war.” Said Lyanna, despite herself.

Arthur looked over at Ned.

“I will have to rally the North and the Riverlands before we can take King’s Landing,” Said Ned, “And we cannot know what the Vale will do. Jon Arryn may have left instruction for them to support Stannis. We cannot assume we will have any luck.”

 

And yet they did.

The messenger found their army when they had almost reached the Red Mountains. It had been a gruelling ride across the desert, but their guides had got them through as well as could be hoped. He was a young man, swaying in the saddle, and his horse was drenched in sweat. He’d started as a dust cloud on the horizon, and someone had made to shoot him, but Prince Oberyn had seen the flag of truce and made them wait. He was half incoherent by the time he reached them, so it was luck the message had been committed to paper, rather than memory.

The message itself was so surprising as to seem impossible. Renly Baratheon was dead, killed in treachery by his brother Stannis. Most of the lords of the Stormlands had sworn to Stannis, but Lord Mace Tyrell of Highgarden wanted to meet with King Viserys instead, with a view to swearing his allegiance to his cause. The letter was stamped with Mace’s own seal, and he reminded Viserys of his house’s long history of loyalty to the Targaryens.

Lyanna could hardly believe it, but she forced her excitement down, especially when Arthur stood before Viserys’ council and said, “It could be a trap. I would not trust they Tyrells further than I could throw them.”

“Lady Olenna has always had a reputation for intrigue and the Reach and Dorne are old enemies,” Agreed Ned, “But if Renly is not dead it would be hard to conceal the truth for long and the Tyrells have always been loyal to house Targaryen.”

“Well put, Lord Stark,” Said Viserys, with a smile.

He did so well, in these councils. He knew how to charm men and who he had to keep on side. It was only in private he ever showed his temper, raging at the frustrations that plagued any large army crossing a desert. In the day, he rode at the front of the host, on a fine stallion with a coat that seemed to shimmer like gold in the sun, matching his set of new set of shining armour. He looked every inch the prince he had been born to be.

It was only at night, in his tent, that the mask of the king slipped away, and he became Viserys again, with all his human emotions. Sometimes, he was filled with doubt, knowing that the odds were stacked against them and fearing a war on many fronts which would leave the Seven Kingdoms as barren and destroyed as the disputed lands. Other times, he was wroth, angered by some delay or difficulty facing the army. At times, his temper had grown violent, in a way that Lyanna had never witnessed on the other side of the Narrow Sea. Then it was Lyanna who began to doubt.

Lyanna looked over at Prince Oberyn, who had yet to speak, “Dorne must have spies in the reach, with Renly’s army? They must know the truth of his death, at least?”

“We do.” Said Oberyn, “But none of them could get us news ahead of this messenger. He must have killed horses to reach us so quickly.”

Lyanna wondered if that made his words more likely to be truthful, or a lie.

“The reports I do have are strange.” Continued Oberyn.

“Strange how?” Asked Viserys, “I would hear you counsel, good-brother.”

“My spies think Stannis never meant to meet his brother in open battle but meant to lure him into a trap instead.” Said Oberyn, “That alone would not concern me, such treachery is sadly common in warfare, even between brothers. It is the nature of this treachery that concerns me, for I hear that the plan came from Stannis’ pet witch.”

 “A witch?” Said Ned, almost laughing, “I cannot imagine Stannis Baratheon giving any credence to such a thing.”

“She is a priestess of the red god and she has been in his service for a while.” Replied Oberyn, with a shrug, “It is rumoured she has powers of foresight, and perhaps other, darker powers.”

Lyanna shuddered. She had seen the priests of R’hllor many times in the free cities and never liked them. Their worship was strange to Lyanna, but there was more to it than that. Some of the priests were clearly no more than charlatans, but some had a strangeness about them that Lyanna did not like. They claimed to see things in their fires and sometimes, people claimed, those things came true. Lyanna did not like it at all. She was done with prophecy.

“There were priests of the red god in the free cities.” Said Viserys, echoing Lyanna’s thoughts, “They claimed to be able to see the future in their fires, but it was such things that drove my father mad, so I always stayed away from them.”

“It matters little how Renly died.” Said Ned, putting an end to the speculation, “Only that we believe he is dead and the Tyrells might want a new king to serve. I suggest we propose a meeting in an open location under a flag of truce. We can make every preparation in case they prove false, but we cannot afford to turn them away entirely.”

“That seems a sensible plan.” Said Arthur and Oberyn nodded.

“Well then,” Said Viserys, looking at Prince Oberyn, “See that it is arranged.”

So, it was agreed. A place was chosen, and a message was sent in return to the Tyrells.  

 

Travelling across Dorne had been hard, and Lyanna had shared a small tent with Daenerys and Sansa, while Arthur and Jon shared another. Of course, Arthur had not slept with her since Ned had arrived in Dorne. He was courteous, and at times affectionate, but a distance had grown between them. Arthur had said it was a matter of honour, but Lyanna could not help fearing it was more than that.

In Braavos, he had been sworn to her and Jon. No other woman could know his identity. There had been no-one else for him to take as a lover. Here, Ser Arthur Dayne, the famed knight, could have his pick of women. Perhaps someone who could give him a child of his own. If he shared her tent now, he would have no choice but to marry her. It had been a long time since they had spoken of such things and perhaps his feelings on the subject of marriage had changed.

As they entered the Reach, someone found them a larger pavilion and a pack horse to carry it. The first night, after the servants had assembled it, Lyanna put on a gown of violet gauze silk that she had brought from Dorne and sent the children away. They were old enough to guess what she was about and went to Ned’s tent without much argument.

She prepared a dinner for Arthur, a duck that one of the archers had shot down, with last of the oranges and dates from Sunspear. It was a favourite of his and one they had rarely been able to get in the free cities. Cooking calmed her, and it surprised her how much she missed the homely tasks of their old life. When she had been a child, riding with an army such as this would have been her dream. Now she was a woman grown and a mother, it only made her afraid.

Ser Arthur lifted the tent flap, “Do I smell duck?”

“Yes,” Said Lyanna softly, “And I have sent the children away.”

“You have?” Ser Arthur’s eyebrows lifted a little.

Lyanna hated herself for how her stomach quivered. This was it. Either he still wanted her, or he would leave.

“Yes,” She raised her chin defiantly, “I have. We have lived as man and wife for a long time. In Dorne, the position of paramour is one of honour.”

“No, Lyanna,” Said Arthur, crossing the tent and taking her hands, “Maybe for a bastard born girl to be paramour of a Prince it is an honour, but not for the daughter of a great house.”

“In Braavos,” Said Lyanna, looking away, “In Norvos, in Tyrosh, in Myr…”

“In those places, it did not matter. People thought you my wife. They thought you respectable.” Arthur tried to explain.

“And here?” Lyanna asked him, pulling her hands free with a jerk, “Here everyone knows I am Rhaegar Targaryen’s whore, and I am not respectable?”

“Who has said such a thing?” Arthur snarled, his hand going to Dawn, “On my honour…”

“No-one!” Lyanna grabbed for his hand again, “I just… why won’t you share my bed, Arthur?”

Now it was Arthur’s turn to look away, “I am a second son, Lyanna, a landless knight. You were Rhaegar Targaryen’s wife, for all he had another still living… You were… you are… a Stark of Winterfell.”

“The Daynes were kings, long ago.” Lyanna replied, her voice softer now, “You told me all their stories.”

“That doesn’t make me worthy.” Arthur said, his eyes not meeting Lyanna’s

“My father chose me a man he thought was worthy of me.” Lyanna replied, “Did you know, even as he fought a war in my name, he was fucking whores in the Riverlands?”

Their bodies grew closer, despite themselves. Their hands, still entwined, fell to their sides. Lyanna tilted her head up to look into Arthur’s astonishing deep violet eyes.

“We’ll have land,” She continued, running a hand through his short-cropped hair and down along his jaw. The years as a mercenary had barely touched him. Just a few lines had changed his face, where he was prone to frown. She kissed his cheek and found it rough with stubble.

“Viserys will grant us something.” She told him, “Or my brother will find us a holdfast in the north.”

He kissed her forehead lightly, “If we survive the war.”

She kissed him then and all her fears and passions went into the kiss, making it feel rough and desperate. His strong arm wrapped around the small of her back, pulling her into him. She gasped. After so many years together, their bodies knew each other so well, and yet the fire was still there. He kissed her back, rough and desperate, like he used to do after months away in the disputed lands.

“Lyanna,” Her name sounded like a prayer on his lips, “In the next sept we see, I’ll marry you, I swear it.”- He paused for a moment- “If that is what you want?”

They had never married.

They had rarely talked of marriage. Neither had seen the point in the free cities, where they could hardly do it in their own names, or the Westerosi style. In truth, there had been many things that they had not spoken about. It had been as if they had both known their lives were on hold, waiting until the day they could finally return home. And perhaps they had both been afraid, afraid to lose the measure of grace they had found together.

Lyanna kissed him again, more tenderly, and led him to the cushions. They shared their meal of duck, stealing shy glances at one another, as if afraid to break the spell between them.

Finally, it was Lyanna who took her courage, “Of course it is what I want. You are the only man I have ever truly wanted.”

“I should speak to your brother.” Arthur replied, smiling.

Their legs had tangled together and he pulled her close again.

“We will speak to him together,” Lyanna suggested.

“As you wish.” Arthur replied, trailing a hand down her side. It sent shivers through her. How long had it been since they had last shared a bed? It would have been in Myr, before the Dornish came.

“Looking at you,” She told him, “And not having you, it was like torture.”

“Well,” Said Arthur, “If you marry me, it shall never happen again.”

“You won’t need to go away anymore, either.” Said Lyanna, with a tender kiss.

Arthur’s hand snaked lower now, following the curve of her hip, pressing her into him.

“No,” He agreed, “I’ll never leave your side again.”

“Are you sure, though?” Lyanna asked him, “I might never give you a child.”

“I have Viserys and Daenerys and Jon.” He replied, “It’s true, none are of my blood, but I have stood as a father to them, all these years.”

A smile crossed Lyanna’s face, “It would please them all to hear you say it.”

Arthur’s hand crossed her stomach, “But one day, if there was a keep, and a maester, and a child of our own…”

Now he was smiling too, and he pulled Lyanna astride him, “Do you think it will not happen?”

Lyanna bit down on her lip, “You’ve often been away, and you know the midwives in Myr taught me how to avoid it, if it were needful… but I lost a child in Norvos, when I fevered, and there was perhaps a time in Braavos, though maybe my monthly course was only late. It can happen, if a woman has a hard birth when she is young…”

“What will be will be,” Said Arthur, “In the end it is between your womb and the gods. I would never love you less because of it.”

Their bodies were pressed together, and they were kissing. Soon, there was no more talking.


	3. A Sansa Interlude For A Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and Lyanna's wedding, as told from Sansa's PoV.
> 
> Or: The calm before the storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter is basically just fluff and happiness, without any real movement forwards of the plot. I guess it's mostly an exposition of Sansa's character, so there's not that much Lyanna/Arthur in this chapter- Sorry. If you're looking for a smutty description of their wedding night, this isn't it, I'm afraid. 
> 
> If, on the other hand, you enjoy Dany x Sansa friendship and young girls enjoying themselves, then this chapter is for you!
> 
> Still Un-Beta'd, all mistakes are my own.

The army had stopped in the shadow of the red mountains, near Nightsong, about a day’s ride from Ashford. Some of the men said it was a good omen, for Old King Robert’s armies had been defeated at Ashford, during the rebellion.

Sansa had heard of the town for a different reason though. There had been a great tourney there once and Ser Duncan the Tall had defended the honour of a Dornish peasant girl against Prince Aerion Brightflame and won the trial of seven, proving his cause was worthy. Songs were sung about it, even now, such a long time afterwards. Ser Duncan had been a true knight, perhaps the last one in Westeros.

They had stopped here because Prince Viserys was waiting to meet with Lord Tyrell of the Reach. Father said they might become allies or might be all a trick and there might be a battle. Sansa did not want to see a battle, but she had seen plenty of things in the last few months that she had not wanted to see.

There had been plenty of good things, too, she reminded herself. She had come to Sunspear, which was beautiful, far more beautiful than King’s Landing, and seen King Viserys, third of his name, crowned in the Sept there. It had been like something out of a song, and the tourney after had been even better. She had met her aunt Lyanna, who everyone had thought was dead, and her cousin Jon, who was a prince and very kind, and Princess Daenerys, who was her new best friend.

That was the other reason they had stopped. Aunt Lyanna and Ser Arthur Dayne were to be married. Cousin Jon said they had lived as man and wife for as long as he could remember, which would have been a great scandal, had they not been in exile. Just yesterday, they had gone to father and asked his permission. Of course, he had granted it. Sansa thought he would grant Lyanna almost anything. He was so pleased that she was here and happy and whole.

Thinking of that made her think of Jeyne and Arya, who had both disappeared in King’s Landing. Sansa tried not to think about them as much as she could, for they must surely be dead by now. Father never spoke about Arya and Sansa was afraid to speak to him about her. It would only make him sad and she was afraid to anger him. They both would have loved it here, Jeyne for the handsome Dornish lords, and Arya for the adventure of riding with the army.

Sansa shook her head to clear it of such thoughts. Today was to be a happy day, for Aunt Lyanna was marrying Ser Arthur Dayne, The Sword of The Morning, at a pretty little Sept here on the edge of the mountains.

She was glad Aunt Lyanna was marrying someone as gracious and kind as Ser Arthur. He was terribly old, of course, older even than Father and King Robert, but then Aunt Lyanna was quite old herself, being nearly thirty. Aunt Lyanna thought him handsome, and from the way they looked at one another, it was clear they were in love. It was the same way that her father and mother looked at one another. Sometimes, Sansa hoped that there might yet be some dashing knight that looked at her that way. Other times… well… other times Sansa did not much like to think about what went on between a man and his wife.

The sept they were marrying in was special, Ser Arthur had told her, for Baelor the Blessed had spent time here in quiet contemplation on his famous journey to make peace with Dorne. Ever since, thousands of pretty, little white flowers bloomed every summer in this one place on the mountain side. People travelled from far and wide to the Sept, for it was supposed to be the site of miraculous cures and Septons and others of the faith came here when they wanted peace and quiet to pray.

Today, there would be no peace and quiet in the sept, for as many guests as could fit would be cramming themselves in for the wedding. There would be herself and father, of course, and Jon and Daenerys and King Viserys. No doubt Prince Oberyn and all the principle Dornish lords would also come and that would make at least twenty-five. The Kingsgaurd would attend, with King Viserys, and no doubt Arthur had some friends among the Dornish Knights. By then the Sept would probably be full. It was small, not like the Great Sept of Baelor in King’s Landing. It probably wouldn’t hold more than fifty people.

Sansa and Dany had ridden up to the Sept early with their guards so that they could decorate it. They had picked bundles of flowers in the valley below and put them on pack ponies to bring them up to the Sept. They’d sacrificed one of Sansa’s old dresses to make ribbons and begged around the camp for needles and thread and other things to make decorations with. It would not look so grand as things would have if they had married in Winterfell or Sunspear, but Ser Arthur and Aunt Lyanna were so in love they scarcely seemed to care.

Riding to the Sept had been fun. They had asked Jon if he wanted to come with them, but he was busy with Ser Arthur. Jon always preferred to be with the menfolk, than with Sansa and Daenerys. Sansa understood that. It was like Robb and Theon back at Winterfell. Sometimes, they had more important things to attend to than playing with the younger Stark children. Sansa liked Jon well enough, but she liked it just as much when it was just her and Dany.

Dany was friendly and graceful and kind and pretty, and everything a princess _should_ be. They were the best of friends now, of course, and being with Dany was much more like how Sansa had imagined things would be, when they had first gone south to King’s Landing. As they were with the army, there would be war and battles and all sorts of terrible things to come, but for now Sansa pushed all of that to the back of her mind. She didn’t want today to be marred by sadness.

She and Dany laughed together as they decorated the Sept. There were bunches of wildflowers at the end of each bench, and they wove two great garlands, trimmed with Sansa’s ribbons, one for the altar and one to go over the door. As much as they could manage, they had chosen white and purple flowers, for the colours of the two houses being joined, but here and there, there were splashes of blue and yellow as well. The Septon had brought out great beeswax candles to light the Altar, and a beautiful seven-pointed crystal, which created iridescent shimmers when it caught the sun.

They hung banners too, for House Stark and House Dayne, one on either side of the Sept. The direwolf made Sansa think of Lady but she reminded herself not to be sad. Lady was gone now but Jon had found her a hound in Sunspear who was nearly as good. He had a dog just like her called Winter, who Sansa loved to play with. Jon had thought she might be afraid of such a large hound and Sansa had laughed and told him about Lady, which made her cry. Jon had cheered her up by helping her think up a name for her new dog, and in the end, Sansa had called her Jonquil.

Sansa had never had a cousin before, but she rather liked it. There was Robin Arryn, of course, who lived in the Eerie with Aunt Lysa, but Sansa had never met him, so he did not really count. Jon was brave and strong, like Robb, but with dark hair and a handsome smile, and King Viserys had decreed him a prince of the blood in front of everyone. Ser Arthur Dayne had been like a father to him and now Jon served like his squire and one day Ser Arthur would knight him, and he would ride in tourneys and win them all, just like his real father, Prince Rhaegar, had done.

“It’s strange to see all of this.” Said Dany, when they were done, “I knew who we were, who Viserys and I were, who Lyanna and Arthur were, and Viserys always told me stories, but it felt so strange to me, before I came here.”

“It’s strange for me too,” Sansa said, “Dorne and the south are very different to the North, where I grew up.”

“Viserys always said the North was a harsh land, and it bred strong people.” Dany replied.

“I couldn’t wait to leave,” Sansa admitted, “When father said I was to marry Prince Joffrey, I don’t think I’d ever been that glad, but as soon as we came south, it all went wrong.”

Dany frowned, “How do you mean?”

“Well, King Robert was a fat, old drunk, and Joffrey was crueller than anything, and... While father was in the dungeons…” Sansa looked away, suddenly. She’d said too much, and she felt ashamed, “It matters not. I’m glad to be here, with you.”

Dany smiled kindly and squeezed her hand, “I’m so glad you are. I’d be lost without a friend to teach me all the things you need to know at court.”

Sansa made herself smile back, “None of it matters, really, though. As long as you’re good and kind, people will know you’re a true princess.”

“I think it does matter.” Said Dany, in reply.

“It might, if you were to marry some lord who wanted you to be that way.” Said Sansa, “But you’re to marry King Viserys and be queen. Everyone will have to try and please you, instead.”

“Maybe,” Said Dany. She seemed nervous about being queen, and Sansa did not blame her.

Sansa gave Dany’s hand a squeeze this time, “All will be well, I promise.”

With the Sept was decorated, they rode back down to the camp to change into their finery. It was a shame there was no seamstress here to make them all new dresses, but they all had their clothes from the coronation, and Aunt Lyanna had unpicked some silver thread to add extra embroidery to her gown. Sansa had helped with the embroidery, sewing little dire wolves around the hem and adding swords for Ser Arthur. Aunt Lyanna had praised Sansa’s embroidery, saying it was neater than anything she could have done at twelve and Sansa had blushed pink at the compliment.

Daenerys’ dress was beautiful, all red silk with black jet beading and black slashes in the sleeves. It was probably not her very best colour, she suited the pale mauve she wore for riding more, but Dany looked beautiful in the dress none the less. Sansa helped to lace her into it and braided her shining hair with flowers and silver chains.

“I never had dresses this fine,” She told Sansa, “Not before we came to Dorne. I was afraid, before we came, you know.”

“I was afraid in King’s Landing.” Sansa replied, “I thought they might kill Father, and Joffrey…”

“Viserys will kill him.” Dany promised, “And put his head on a spike over the castle walls.”

That thought should not have made Sansa smile, and yet it did. In truth, King Viserys scared her a little. It was not his fault, exactly. There was just something about him that reminded her of Joffrey. She was glad that most of the time he seemed to barely notice her. The thought of him killing Joffrey gave her an odd kind of thrill, though, and half of her hoped to be there to see it. Mostly, she never wanted to see Joffrey ever again, but a little bit of her wanted to see him as afraid as she had been.

She kissed Daenerys’ cheek and then Dany helped her into her own gown of silver-grey and braided her hair until it looked like she wore a crown of flowers. They had a looking glass from Myr in the tent, and they both admired themselves in it, spinning their gowns and checking the arrangement of their hair.

Aunt Lyanna had gone with Ellaria Sand to get ready. The girls had offered, but Ellaria told them that some things needed a woman grown. Sansa could not wait to see her gown. She hoped, one day, when she married a great lord who was gentle and kind and true, her wedding gown would look like Lyanna’s and she would look half as beautiful. They did not look much alike, of course. Lyanna was dark-haired and grey eyed like father, whereas Sansa’s hair was the coppery-auburn of the Tullys, and Sansa was already nearly as tall as her aunt. If Lyanna looked like anyone, it was Arya, but Sansa tried not to wonder if Arya would have looked so beautiful when she was a woman grown.

Sansa helped father dress though, though. He had men to serve him, but they did not know how to settle his cloak, just so, nor how to brush his hair until it shone, and tie it back neatly with a strip of leather. When he looked at himself in the glass, he smiled and told Sansa she’d done a fine job.

“Your mother would be proud.” He told her.

Sansa did not cry at that, but only because she had had plenty of practise at not crying in King’s Landing.

Instead, she curtsied and thanked him, like a dutiful daughter, and went to help Daenerys dress Jon. When they were done, he looked very handsome in his doublet of black slashed with red. His hair was not quite long enough to tie back and instead fell around his face in dark, shining curls. Teasing him, Sansa had offered to braid flowers in to his hair, which had made him blush pink and send them away, flustered. 

That was when the King came to their tent.

Sansa hid her trembling hands behind her back, but he only smiled at his sister, “My squires helped dress me, but they cannot braid my hair like you do, sweet sister.”

Daenerys had sat behind him and combed his silver hair and tied it in little braids around his ears. Sansa had found a little silver thread left over from Lyanna’s dress. Dany wove that into the braids with skilful hands, so that King Viserys’ hair shone like moonlight over his black doublet. When Dany was done, Viserys settled his crown into place, and he looked every inch a king. It was nothing at all like how poor, fat, old King Robert had looked.

“Are you glad about it?” Dany asked him, and Sansa realised she meant Lyanna and Arthur.

“Of course I am.” He replied, “Aren’t you?”

“I am.” Dany said, quickly, “It’s just strange, isn’t it?”

“She was a great lady, once.” Viserys told her, his fingers rising up to touch her cheek and catch in her hair. It sounded like a story he had told many times before, “And he was the finest knight that the Seven Kingdoms had ever seen. This is their due, Dany, not some little house in Myr and him fighting without honour in the disputed lands.”

“We were happy there.” Said Dany, softly.

“They wanted to come home though,” Viserys took Dany’s hand, speaking kindly, but with a firmness to his voice, “This is who they are meant to be. They gave it all up, for a time, for us. They deserve this happiness. We owe them everything, don’t forget, so don’t ruin this day for them.”

“Of course.” Dany agreed, quickly, “Everything’s just changed so much.”

“It will be better.” He promised her, “When I have the throne and we are married. That is who we are meant to be.”

King Viserys pressed her hand to his lips, and it was softer and more tender than anything Sansa had ever seen Joffrey do.

He stood then, and inclined his head, “Lady Sansa.”

“Your Grace.” Sansa curtsied low, not meeting his eyes. She felt like she should not have seen such an intimate conversation.

When King Viserys had gone and Dany was sure he was out of earshot, she whispered, “I don’t know if I want to be queen. I’m scared it’ll be lonely.”

“You won’t be lonely.” Sansa promised, “There will be all sorts of people who will want to be your friend once you are queen.”

“I don’t want the sort of friends who only want to be my friend because I am queen.” Dany replied.

“King Viserys will be there.” Sansa said, “And I will come too, if you like, as your lady. I have been in King’s Landing before, and I could help you.”

Daenerys grabbed her hands, “Oh, would you?”

“Of course.” Said Sansa, with a smile. It would be different this time, she told herself, if Viserys was king.

 

The wedding was beautiful. Aunt Lyanna was older than most brides, of course, nearing thirty, and Ser Arthur was older still. Despite that, they both looked very fine indeed. The Sept looked pretty, and Sansa even heard people compliment how well it was decorated. All the guests were wearing their finery and smiling. When it came the time for Ser Arthur to put aside Aunt Lyanna’s cloak, she trembled like a maid, but when it came time for them to kiss, it was her who kissed him first, as bold and wanton as anything Sansa had ever seen.

Then everyone rode back down the mountain for the feast. It was in the open air, with venison and wild birds roasting over fires between the tables. Over the tables hung streamers of silk in purple and silver, and more flowers dangled from the poles. There were casks and casks of wine and Sansa did not know where they could have come from. Even father was smiling and looked relaxed for the first time in a long time.

There were guards, of course. They were at war. But even stranger than the wine, there were singers and minstrels, and dancing, right there in the field. Sansa had taught Daenerys all the steps to the court dances, and they both danced all night. Sansa danced with everyone, with her father, and Jon, and Ser Arthur, and even the King, and though she had trembled just a little when he took her hand, he was courteous throughout. Then he ordered all his Kingsguard knights to dance with her and Daenerys, and they were young and handsome and gallant, and everything a knight should be.

It was like something from a song. It was everything Sansa had ever dreamed of.

 

The next morning, the Tyrells rode in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was probably one of the hardest to edit and get right. It's obviously different writing a character who has a PoV in the books, compared to writing Lyanna, who I can basically make my own. In aGoT, Sansa's character changes a lot, as the scales slowly fall from her eyes and her innocence is taken away. I tried to write Sansa in a similar way to how she's written before she goes to beg for her father's life in Chapter 57 of aGoT- but with more happiness, as she's preparing for her aunt's wedding, and free from King's Landing. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope Sansa fans will like the version of Sansa I've written. She's my favourite character, so I hope I've done her justice!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I finally updated. 
> 
> I never meant to abandon this story for so long, especially as it was all written out, but I got a bit stuck with editing this and then life distracted me or something. 
> 
> Anyway, there's one more chapter left to post, and I hope you enjoy this one. 
> 
> Un-beta'd, so please do let me know if you spot any issues!
> 
> This chapter features some canon typical violence, and a character does die (but I'm sure it's not anyone you love).

The Tyrells wanted negotiations, but first they wanted proof. Lyanna did not blame them, exactly. No doubt they had lost much since the Targaryens had fallen, though to look at them you would not know it. Lord Mace Tyrell was fat and dressed in fine clothes, with a golden chain of roses around his neck. He had with him two strong sons, both well-armed and armoured, with fine horses to ride upon.

And he had a daughter. Lady Maegery, who had been Renly’s queen. She was a pretty girl, with long brown hair given to curling, but an odd way of smiling with only half her mouth. It made her look like the cat who had got the cream, even though she had lost everything. She was young, Lyanna reminded herself, so young, as young as Lyanna had been, when she too had thought to bed royalty.

“I want to know why.” Said Lord Mace, puffing his chest up, his face going red, “The realm was torn apart for her. The least she can do is explain.”- he paused- “We don’t even know that she is Lyanna Stark.”

“Lady Lyanna.” Viserys corrected him, with just the tiniest edge to his voice.

Ned frowned, “Do you think I would be here, if this were not my sister?”

“Well, if she is, you apparently lied to us all for years, Lord Stark, so you can hardly expect us to trust you now.” That was Olenna Tyrell, as sharp tongued as her reputation suggested, “That is Ser Arthur Dayne, of course, and she does have the Stark look, but for all we know Prince Doran found these children in a Lysenne pleasure house.”

“That is enough!” Snapped Viserys, “You may doubt us, if you wish, but if you are going to insult us, you can leave, and when my armies are at your gates, you will find out just what sort of dragon I am.”

He looked at Lyanna, and his eyes began to soften, just a little, “You don’t have to answer any of their questions. This is ridiculous.”

“I do.” Said Lyanna, “They are right. The realm deserves answers.”- she paused to look around- “Where is Jon? It’s his story too. He should hear it.”

She did not want to tell everyone. She did not want to think on it. In Essos, she had been able to go years without thinking about any of it. In Essos, she had been Lya, the Westerosi woman and the sell sword’s wife. As long as she had coin to spend, nobody looked at her or asked difficult questions. The children never asked about that time and Arthur had never felt the need to ask her about such things. He had known Rhaegar. He had been there. He had understood.

She could not even claim to regret it entirely. If not for Rhaegar, there would have been no Jon.

But she did have regrets. She had been no more than a foolish girl, wanting to escape an unpleasant betrothal, and she had believed in Rhaegar’s lies. Her stupidity had plunged the Seven Kingdoms into war. It had killed her father and brother, and who knew how many thousands besides? It had killed Queen Rhaella and Elia and Elia’s poor little children and it had killed Rhaegar too, in the end. And for what? Some stupid prophecy. He’d been so certain Jon would be a girl, a Visenya to Elia’s Rhaenys and Aegon. It had only been when Jon was born a boy that Lyanna finally stopped believing.

Jon was found and brought to the council. Daenerys and Sansa too. Lyanna squared her shoulders and found Arthur’s hand. He squeezed hers and leaned close.

“Remember, I was there for most of it, and I will love you, always.” He promised. She smiled at him, trying to force it not to waver.

“It started with the tourney at Harrenhall.” She said.

“Well, we all know that.” Said Olenna Tyrell.

Viserys shot her a glare and even Lord Mace turned around and said, “Enough, mother.”

“Everyone knows that Rhaegar named me Queen of Love and Beauty there, though they do not know why.” Lyanna said, and now her voice had more bite to it. Now she was the wolf-maid again. “Some of you might remember the mystery knight, on the first day of the tourney, with the weirwood tree on his shield. King Aerys mistrusted the mystery knight and sent Rhaegar to find out who it was.”

“For once,” Lyanna continued with a wry grin, “It was nothing to do with anyone plotting against King Aerys. A friend of our family had come to the tourney. His name was Howland of House Reed, and he was a crannogman. Though House Reed is honoured in the North, in the Riverlands they despise the crannogmen. Three squires found Howland on the road and were beating him. Benjen, my youngest brother and I, chased them off.”

She looked at the audience. They had all fallen silent now. This was a story that, from beginning to end, had shaped all of their lives, but none of them had ever heard it from her point of view. None of them knew the whole of the truth. They would have heard things, of course, like Ned had heard before he found her. She did not know exactly what stories they told in the Seven Kingdoms anymore. Was she cast as a wilful young girl, foolish for love, or a victim, abducted against her will?

“I was angry with the squires and wanted to shame them. I wanted a lot of things when I was younger, most chiefly to be a knight or a warrior at least. My younger brother Benjen was of a size with me, almost, and I persuaded him to lend me his armour and his horse and entered the list. I painted the shield myself, with the first thing I could think of. A sign of the north but also the power that runs in the line of House Reed. It is dangerous to make enemies of those with the blood of the first men and I wanted to remind the south of that.

“I challenged the three knights who were masters of those squires and defeated all three of them. Some of you will doubt this part, I know, but if a ten-year-old boy can enter a tourney, why not a fifteen-year-old girl? I was a good horsewoman, and jousting is more than half horsemanship, and the rest is mostly just keeping your lance straight. Or perhaps the old gods guided my lance that day, who can tell? Anyway, I won, and told the knights to lesson their squires in honour.

“I was a champion for that day, without meaning to be, and we were presented to the King. What could I do? If I revealed myself to him, he might’ve thought it a joke at his expense, and if my father came to hear of it, he would have had me beaten at the very least. Nor did I know what Robert Baratheon might do. I did not dare show my face. King Aerys did not like that at all.

“He thought I was part of some plot against him. I did not know how mad or paranoid King Aerys was, then. I don’t think anyone did, outside of court. Anyway, he ordered Rhaegar to find me and reveal his identity to him. I was so afraid and I made the mystery knight disappear as best I could, but I could not throw away Benjen’s armour, nor his horse. Prince Rhaegar asked the right questions and so, eventually, he found me.

“I thought he would be terribly angry with me, but he was not. He wanted to know why I had done it so I explained about Howland Reed. Howland had Greendreams, a prophetic gift from the old gods. Prince Rhaegar had dreams that came true as well, though his was a different kind of gift. So many in his family had been driven mad by chasing prophecy, Prince Rhaegar wanted to meet someone who could, perhaps, help him.

“I took the Prince to Howland. At first Howland was afraid or thought the Prince meant to mock him, but he soon understood why Prince Rhaegar had come to him. They talked of their dreams long into the night and slowly discovered the same thread running through them. There is a story, in the north, of the winter that would not end, and the long night, and the last hero. There was a similar myth in Valyria, though they say it was dragons that ended the long night, not just one hero alone. Rhaegar had researched such things, and he said such stories are told all over the world.

“It scared me, that they were talking of these old stories as things that might actually happen. I think it scared them more, though. Before that day, Rhaegar had wanted to believe his dreams would not come true. Perhaps Howland had too. But with the prince and the crannogman having the same dreams, well, that was something they could not ignore. Rhaegar thought he knew what needed to be done. There was another prophecy, you see, about bringing back the dragons.

“Even though what I heard scared me, I did not think about it much, afterwards. Prince Rhaegar won the tournament and crowned me Queen of Love and Beauty. I do not know exactly why. I do not think he meant to insult Princess Elia, for I know he did love her, very much. I think he meant to honour me or thank me. He didn’t realise how much trouble it would cause. He was a singer, and half the time his head was in a song, not the real world, and he did not think about real world consequences, for him, or me, or her.

“Anyway, lots of things happened that you do not need me to tell you about. The tourney ended and we all went home, and I thought no more of dragons and true dreams and the longest night. I was nearly a woman grown and soon to marry Robert Baratheon. I did not want to, for I knew he would never be faithful to me, and he could be angry and cruel. I did not especially want to play the dutiful Southron wife. But my father insisted, and I did not have a choice.

“Meanwhile, Prince Rhaegar had a son, and named him Aegon. The prince who was promised, he thought. But Princess Elia was always weak and after the birth she was told having more children would likely cause her death. Rhaegar’s prophecy said that the dragon must have three heads, but even he would not have risked his wife’s life in that way.

“He needed another child and for that he needed a woman. I don’t know exactly why he picked me as a likely candidate for the mother. The Valyrians called the prophecy the song of ice and fire. Maybe Elia was the fire, and I was the ice. He knew my betrothal was distasteful to me. He knew I was a fighter. He already had Rhaenys and Aegon. I was to be the mother of his Visenya.

“My father had send Brandon and I south so that we could marry. Rhaegar came to me… well… he didn’t come to me exactly, but he sent Ser Arthur to an Inn in the Riverlands where I was staying on my journey. He’d had me watched, I suppose. Ser Arthur came to me and took me to the Prince. I met with Rhaegar in a wood, near the Isle of Faces, and he told me of the prophecy, of what he feared, of why the world needed dragons again so desperately. It was the madness talking, I know that now, but then I was a girl, young and foolish, and living in a song.

“He married me before a heart tree, there on the Isle of Faces. There were witnesses. Though he was still married to Elia, he wanted this child to be legitimate too and he said that the rules had always been different for Targaryens. King Viserys acknowledges it, so I suppose he was right. We rode fast for Dorne. It was just me and him and Ser Arthur, and we could travel fast. Besides, no-one was looking for me that far south. I know I shouldn’t have gone, but he was a prince, and he told me that our child would help save the world from a great evil. Stupidly, I believed him.

“He didn’t bed me until we got to the Tower of Joy, but we lived there for a while, like man and wife, I suppose. It was madness, stupidity, a dream, but Rhaegar was charismatic and I was caught up in it all. He kept me cut off from everything that was happening elsewhere. I know that now. I didn’t love him, and he didn’t love me, but we both believed in his madness for a while, and in a way that was worse.

“Anyway, eventually he got me with child and rode back north to try and sort everything out. You all know what happened to him, perhaps better than I do.”

Lyanna paused then, to wipe away an errant tear. She had not loved Rhaegar, and he had been mad, but he had been other things as well. Gentle, and kind, and beautiful and so utterly, utterly sure they were doing the right thing. They all had been. Rhaegar and her and Ser Arthur. She looked over at Arthur now, and he squeezed her hand.

“Ned found me. I don’t know how he knew where we were, you’d have to ask him that. I was half-dead childbirth, so Ser Arthur had gone to fetch a maester. Ned came in and the maester came not long after, and they were able to save me and Jon. I told Ned, not everything, but enough. He’d seen what they’d done to Rhaegar’s other children. That was when he rode south to find me. Ned got us to Starfall and Lady Ashara got us on a ship.

“We lived in Braavos, for a time, me and Arthur and Jon. And one day, I found Viserys and Dany on a street corner in late autumn. Ser Willem Darry had been caring for them, but when he died, the servants threw them out to freeze or starve. I couldn’t leave them alone on the streets, so we took them in and cared for them alongside Jon. I had no thoughts of kingmaking or… anything. It wasn’t because they were Targaryens. It was because they were two orphan children, alone and afraid.”

Lyanna took a deep breath, looking around at everyone and daring them to pass judgement, “That’s it. That’s the story that tore the realm apart, a madman, and a prophecy, and a girl stupid enough to believe him.”

“Well,” Said Lady Olenna, looking straight back at her, “I think much of the tearing apart was done by men who cared more about their honour than good sense, but it’s a good story. The singers would like it”- She turned her piecing gaze on Viserys then- “It doesn’t prove that he is who you say. You hid them for years and there was not a whisper.”

“Prince Doran believes.” Said Prince Oberyn, “I believe.”

Lady Olenna nodded, slowly.

“I suppose it cannot be proven.” That was Ser Arthur. Their hands were linked tightly together, Lyanna’s knuckles were white from holding on to him so hard, “You could go to Norvos, and ask after the sellsword, with a pretty young wife and three brown haired children. The eldest was a little too old to be hers, of course, but perhaps she was a second wife.”

He looked around the meeting, “Or you could go to Tyrosh, and ask after a family from the Street of Wool. Their children had hair of many colours, and their father fought with the second sons, for a time, before he feared being recognised. Then he fought with the Windblown, and they moved to Myr and lived in a house on Greenglass Way with walls of Yellow plaster and a clematis growing around the door.

“Two of his children kept their hair dyed there. One henna red, one bright purple, and in time, the oldest son grew skilled enough to fight with his father, and had things been different they might have become mercenaries of great renown. But that did not happen, because they did not wish to draw attention to ourselves. They fought with the Windblown, and later with a smaller company, who called themselves the Wild Horses. Captain Jacamo would remember them, if he is still alive.

“You could find people who remember all these families, perhaps. Maybe the servants who threw the last Targaryens out on the street to starve. Viserys wears his mother’s crown, and tell me, where would we have gotten that? But proof? What proof can I truly offer you, save my word and that of my wife?”

“It is your decision.” Said Viserys, standing, his surcoat swirling around him, “You can believe or not. Go to your camp and discuss what you have heard. We will meet tomorrow, after midday, and if you believe me, you may swear fealty, and if you do not, you will become my enemy. I could tell you every room of the red keep, every dragon my family ever rode, every song my mother sang to me… but I am a Targaryen and a king, not some performing monkey, so those are your choices.”

He stormed from the council and everyone stared after him.

“Well,” Said Lady Olenna, looking around, “You heard him, Mace.”

“You should not have provoked him so,” Said Mace, with a sigh.

Olenna smiled at Lyanna then, just a little smugly, as if she had done exactly what she had meant to do. Lyanna returned the smile with a bland one of her own.

 

The Tyrells did not leave, but nor would they swear fealty straight away either. They would not agree to support Viserys without this promise of land and that promise of particular powers and certainly not without sitting there and talking about it for days. They wanted Viserys to marry Maegery, despite her last husband barely having been dead for a month. When Viserys refused them, they wanted Dany to marry a Tyrell instead, preferably the heir to Highgarden, Willas who was nearly twice her age and a cripple. When that was refused as well, they looked at Jon and muttered among themselves.

The longer they spent talking, the more nervous Lyanna became. Yes, the Tyrells were useful allies. Yes, even after they had lost men to Stannis, their army was more than twice the size of Viserys’ force. They were rich and the Reach was the most fertile of all the Seven Kingdoms. The problem was they knew all of this. They knew that despite Lyanna and Eddard being there, Viserys could only really rely on Dorne for support, and Dorne alone could not win him a throne. But Viserys was a king now, and on some things he would not be swayed.

“You have to give them something,” Lyanna urged him, sighing, “We can’t stay here forever, and if we offend them, we can’t fight our way out, either.”

“Bringing up our supplies from Dorne is difficult,” Agreed Prince Oberyn, “We cannot feed the army here forever.”

“Dany and I are to marry each other. We are the last pure blooded Targaryens. On that, I will not be swayed.” Said Viserys, “Their other concessions are matters for when I have the throne.”

Lyanna could have pointed out that Viserys’ great-grandmother had been a Blackwood from the Riverlands, and her husband, King Aegon the Unlikely, was half Dornish, so the Targaryen blood was hardly pure at all anymore. Instead, she choked back her angry words and said, “The Tyrells want to ally with you, or they would already be in King’s Landing, but Lord Mace is a proud man. You’ve shamed his daughter by refusing her. You have to let him feel like he has won something from you.”

Viserys scowled and sulked and went outside to spar with Arthur. Lyanna stared at the roof of the tent and then looked over to Prince Oberyn, “The longer we stay here, the more vulnerable we are.”

“Indeed.” He replied, “And we are still close enough to Dorne that deserters might sneak home to their families.”

“Are there many?” Lyanna asked.

“Not yet.” Prince Oberyn replied, his lips pressed into a thin line.

“I never taught him much about politics. Or negotiation.” Lyanna sighed, “I wish I’d known this would happen ten years ago. Even five.”

“We crowned him,” Said Prince Oberyn, “He is our king, for better or for worse. We can only advise.”

 

Lyanna feared the negotiations might go on for ever, but that night, everything changed.

It started with a dream.

Jon came and woke her, in the middle of the night, with Sansa standing behind him in nothing but her shift. Jon eyes were wild, but Sansa looks shame-faced and afraid. For a moment, Lyanna panicked. Sansa had not even yet started her monthlies. What could they have been doing together in the hour of the wolf?

“Mother.” Said Jon, sitting on the edge of the bed she shared with Ser Arthur. He was on watch that night, and so Lyanna had slept alone.

“Yes,” Said Lyanna, shaking her head to try and clear it.

“My father dreamed true dreams, you said.” Jon said. He sounded very nervous, “I never have before, but tonight… Sansa and I both had the same dream.”

Lyanna frowned, “Go on.”

“We were running with our dogs, deep into the woods. There were men there. Soldiers.” Said Jon, “They were dressed in red and wore lions on their chests.”

“Lannisters.” Said Sansa, her voice thin and brittle.

Lyanna’s first thought was to tell them it was only a bad dream. Jon and Sansa were in the middle of a war and people have nightmares. But Jon’s father did dream true dreams. And there have always been stories about Starks and wolves. Why not Starks and dogs? Lyanna dressed, not in a gown, but in a shirt and breaches, and put her sword at her hip and threw her crossbow over her back.

“I am going to find Ser Arthur,” She told them, putting her hair into a neat braid down the back of her head, “You will stay here. Jon, you will guard the girls.”

She paused, and then she handed Sansa a knife and looked the poor girl dead in the eye, “There is always a choice.”

Sansa looked back at her, blue eyes filling with tears. She’d always seemed more a Tully than a Stark, but if she has wolf-dreams- dog dreams, Lyanna thought half hysterically- then perhaps there was more to her than met the eye. And even a Tully girl might want the choice a knife gave. Sansa was completely terrified of the Lannisters in general and her former betrothed, King Joffrey, in particular.

Lyanna woke Daenerys, “Stay in the tent with Jon and Sansa, no matter what.”

She gave Daenerys a knife too, trying not to think about what it meant.

Just a bad dream she tried to tell herself, but she did not believe it.

Lyanna found Arthur at his watch post. Even in the middle of the night, it was warm, and he was only lightly armoured. A famed knight, he could have easily avoided taking a watch, but he insisted. He said it set a good example for the other men.

“Lyanna,” He said, when he saw her, “Is everything alright?”

She frowned, “Jon and Sansa both dreamed Lannisters were in the woods. I know it sounds mad but…”

Arthur stared over at the trees, a blur on the horizon in the dark, “A few of our scouts did not return tonight. Men often go missing but I feel uneasy.”

“Could the Tyrells have betrayed us?” Asked Lyanna. Her hands were shaking. All her worst fears were coming true.

“Mayhaps.” Said Arthur, still staring at the woods as though they would somehow part and reveal the Lannister Army if he looked hard enough.

“What can we do?” Asked Lyanna.

“I’ll send out more scouts.” He suggested.

“Now?” Lyanna frowned, “It’s the middle of the night.”

“It’s the hour of the nightingale soon, a good time for an ambush.” Replied Arthur, “The children.”

“I left Jon in charge. I left the girls knives.” Lyanna replied.

“If is there is a battle, they should flee.” He replied, his eyes holding hers, “And you with them.”

She grabbed his hand.

“I won’t leave you.” She replied, “And you won’t leave Viserys. And he won’t leave the army.”

“The children then,” Said Arthur, stubbornly.

There was a shout, further down the line.

“What do you see, Sebastien?” Called Arthur, looking over. Every line of his body was tense, preparing for the fight to come.

“I thought I saw a movement in the trees, Ser.” He replied.

Arthur squinted at the horizon, “Seven hells, my eyes are no good in this light. Lyanna?”

“Rouse the camp.” She said, her voice hushed and urgent, “If it’s nothing, the worst is we’ll look fools.”

“You’re right.” He replied, and then shouted, “Sound the alarm!”

“Ser?” Said Sebastien, “Are you sure? It could be an animal, or nothing.”

“And if it’s not?” Said Ser Arthur, suddenly every inch the battle commander, “Do you want to explain to the wives of those who get murdered in their sleep?”

Sebastien shook his head, his expression hard to read in the dim light. He raised a hunting horn to his lips and blew twice, the signal for the enemy. After pause, he blew again, and other horns and voices took up the call. Men began to assemble around Ser Arthur.

He looked at her bow, “You want to fight?”

A shiver ran down her spine, but she squared her shoulders and met his eyes, “Yes.”

For a moment, she thought he might refuse, but instead he gave her hand a hard squeeze.

“Join the archers, then.” He told her, “Seven save us we have few enough. But if it looks to go ill… Lyanna, get Jon and Dany out of here. Lady Sansa too, if she’ll go with you.”

She opened her mouth to argue. She wasn’t a coward. She wouldn’t flee.

“Please.” Arthur’s voice twisted with desperation.

Lyanna nodded, “Alright. If it looks like we’re losing, I’ll run.”

He kissed her then, as intense and desperate as it had ever been between them.

The army was forming up behind them. Those men who had been on watch were first but others, rushed out of bed to join them, armed and armoured in a rush. The archers formed up on the flanks, and Lyanna looked over to them, and then at Arthur. He wasn’t in full armour for the watch, only a light mail shirt and his helm. A squire might bring him a horse, if he was lucky, but otherwise he would be in the melee on foot.

Lyanna gripped him by the back of his neck and kissed him again, fiercely, “Come back to me, husband.”

His hands took hold of her hips, and he kissed her, more softly now, “And you, wife.”

Then she was off. She found a place among the crossbowmen. Arthur was right, they had too few archers. There were about five hundred crossbowmen from Myr, who’s bolts could pierce any armour, and maybe a thousand longbowmen. In the North, there would have been more. The Lannisters, from the Westerlands, would have more. Good archers could turn the tide of any battle, her father had always said. But their army was mostly from Dorne, and though Dornish liked to display feats of arms by firing the bow from the saddle, they relied on their spearmen to combat cavalry.

Her hands were shaking so she tried to calm herself by breathing slowly. She had never been in a battle. Arthur had bought her the crossbow as a way of defending their home and she had practised with it until she was deadly accurate. He said at close range it would pierce even the best castle forged armour. She forced herself to calm and smiled at the Myrish crossbowman she stood next to. She knew him, she realised, a friend of Arthur’s from his mercenary days.

“Lya,” He said, with an easy smile, “Or should I call you Lady Lyanna now?”

“Lya,” She whispered, “Well met, Ellos.”

“Who do they think is in those trees?” Asked Ellos.

“The Lannisters.” She replied.

“With the lions.” He replied. His common tongue had a slight accent to it, and she wondered if she ought to switch to the Myrish dialect of Valyrian.

There was a shout, and conversation was forgotten.

It was nearing dawn, and the Lannister’s cavalry was charging through the trees.

“Hold.” Ellos told her, as she raised her bow, “They’re too far yet. The captain will tell us when.”

Lyanna nodded, trying to hide her fear. She couldn’t see Arthur anymore, but she could see Prince Oberyn’s banner among the Dornish spears, and she could see Viserys on his horse surrounded by his Kingsguard with Ned a little to the right. She prayed to the old gods that they would all see this battle through. The old gods did not really listen to that kind of prayer, but she had never really managed the worship of the Seven despite Arthur, so they were all she had to pray to. They’d a warning, with the dreams, and that gave her a little hope.

More horns and trumpets sounded and there were more shouts. The Lannisters were closer now, the rising sun hitting their armour and making their horse’s coats shine. The charge was so loud, she could hear it over everything, a rumble of thunder to beckon in the coming storm. There was so much shouting she could barely understand it. Orders, battle cries, insults, blending in with the horses and rhythmic thudding of spears on shields.

Their own cavalry had split in two, swinging around to flank the Lannisters. They were far enough away that she could not hear them, but she watched the horses run and wheel, their men readying their weapons. The spearmen stopped their thudding, and the first ranks formed up with practised ease. The first spears were held directly forwards, the second ranks at an upwards angle, razor sharp and ready to pierce any horse that reached them.

For a moment, Lyanna felt sick. She was rooted to the spot and all she could do was watch the Lannisters gallop across the field towards them. There were so many of them, twice as many as their own cavalry, maybe as many horses as there were glittering spears raised against them. She thought of Jon and prayed desperately to any god who might listen that he was still safe in the tent.

Then captain shouted, and Lyanna jerked to life. She shot a bolt towards the mass of charging Lannisters on instinct, without bothering to aim. They were far away enough still that she could not tell if it hit. Some men and horses fell, not enough. She fumbled, trying to load another bolt.

“Again!” Shouted the Captain, and she let off her second shot.

The horsemen met the spears in horrible crunch of metal and screams.

“Again!”

She shot, almost automatically. Now they were close enough to hear the bolts thud into metal and flesh. The hit men groaned, the horses screamed. Metal scraped against metal, wood thudded into wood. Metal met flesh, human and horse, and the wounded screamed and died. No-one had ever told her how battle sounded, so loud and horrifying.

Their cavalry wheeled, charging in to take the Lannisters from the rear. The wedge split the enemy. For a moment, men and horses were tumbling to the ground. 

“Again!” Yelled the Captain, his voice half a snarl.

Another volley of bolts hit the Lannister men. They were close enough now that she could see hers take a man under the arm, the force of it throwing him from his horse.

He must be dead, she realised, and her hands stopped moving.

Ellos gave her a hard nudge in the ribs when she did not let off another shot. She found another bolt and loaded it, shooting freely now into the mass of men. They want to kill us, she told herself. They will kill Viserys, Arthur, Ned, Jon… even poor Sansa and Daenerys who had never hurt anyone. She should have told them to run.

Lyanna shot bolts until her arms ached from holding the crossbow steady. Viserys’ cavalry wheeled away to meet the Lannister foot, charging out from the woods now. The Lannister cavalry broke away from the spearmen to chase them, leaving behind a mess of dead men and horses.

“Advance!” Someone shouted in the distance, and they were all walking forwards.

Lyanna could not tell if they were winning or not. She had not been able to see Arthur since the battle started, and she could not see Ned or Viserys now either. They took new positions and shot more bolts towards the enemy, though it was harder now, all the men tangled in together. A boy with the Myrish crossbow men bought her a bag of bolts and a waterskin. She gulped it, gratefully and resumed her shooting.

The sun was up in the sky now, so they could see better, picking out the men and horses in red livery. Even now, Lyanna could not bring herself to shoot at the horses. Her crossbow was good enough to pierce the best armour and men fell when her bolts hit them.

There was a cry of alarm. As one, the crossbowmen looked to the right.

The Tyrell horse was charging now. Lyanna stared at them. Thousands of them, in glorious shining armour with steeds of the highest quality. If the Reach were with the Lannisters, they were surely all dead now. It felt, for a moment, as if the hearts of Viserys’ army all stopped together. As one, they held their breath. But the Tyrell horse was charging past them, hitting the Lannister foot in its right side and cleaving a path through them.

“What are you all staring at?” Shouted the Captain in his bastard Valyrian, “Get shooting!”

Lyanna did as she was bid, though it was harder to pick targets now. Everything was a mess of green and red and orange. Somewhere among all of that was Arthur and Ned and Viserys.

The Lannisters broke.

It happened so suddenly that Lyanna could barely believe what she was seeing. Once the Tyrells had made a path through the infantry, the survivors dropped their weapons and sprinted for the relative safety of the forest. The cavalry fought on for longer. They were the knights and the lords. Their pride demanded they did not flee and run. Even so, soon groups of them were breaking away, making for the woods. Their cause was lost.

Some of the Tyrells chased them, cutting down fleeing men and whooping as if it were all some great lark. Around her, archers were sitting down, relaxing, shouting for drink and food. Lyanna did not sit. She slung her crossbow back over her shoulder and jogged out towards the armoured foot, where Arthur would surely be.

She found him near Prince Oberyn. Dawn and his armour were stained with blood, but mercifully he was not badly wounded. They were both almost too exhausted to speak, but they looked out at Viserys’ cavalry. It had not come back to join the rest of the army, standing oddly lost in the middle of the field. She could not see Viserys or Ned.

They both broke into a run.

The milling horsemen parted to let them through. As soon as she could see, Lyanna screamed. Viserys was lying there on the ground. His left pauldron had come away completely, and there was a dagger wedged there instead, pointing down towards his chest. Ned had taken Viserys’ helm off and rested his King’s head across his knees. Viserys’ face, always pale, was as white as the first winter snows, save for his lips, which were stained with blooming flower red blood.

“Here, now, Lyanna and Arthur are here.” Ned said, his voice soft as though he spoke to a frightened horse.

Viserys looked towards them, but he could not speak.

Lyanna fell to her knees beside him, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“What are you all staring at!” Shouted Arthur, “Someone go and fetch his sister, and Jon. Now!”

She had never heard him so angry.

She looked at Ned, “A maester, a chirurgeon.”

“Lyanna, sweetling, I think the dagger has hit his lung. I don’t think there’s anything to be done.” He told her.

Viserys looked up at her, with fearful lilac eyes. She had not seen his eyes look quite like that since the day she had taken him in.

“Oh, my sweet boy,” Her hand tangled in his hair, “You’ll be with them soon, your brother, your mother. You’ll be beyond pain, and fear and hunger-“

Her sobs stopped her words, but Arthur had slipped into Ned’s place, “We’ll take care of Daenerys for you. No harm shall befall her while I live, I swear.”

Viserys’ lips moved, though no sound came through them and more blood bubbled in his mouth.

“I love you.” Lyanna choked out, “I’ve loved you since the day I took you in. You were so scared and so brave, and you grew into a man we could be so proud of. The best of the Targaryens.”

“You were a bold fighter,” Said Arthur, “And like a son to me, just like Jon. You were always so brave in battle. Too brave, this time, eh?”

“They’ll sing songs about you.” Lyanna promised, “The dragon who came to reclaim his throne.”

Viserys turned his head again, and Lyanna looked behind her. Dany was there, still in her nightgown and sliding from the back of someone’s horse.

She screamed, longer and louder than Lyanna had. She fell to her knees beside her brother and pressed a desperate kiss to his forehead. When she looked up, her cheeks were stained with tears. Lyanna had never seen such pain in a child’s eyes. It was as if her heart were breaking.

It seemed that had been all Viserys was holding on for. He sighed once, and all the fight went out of him. Purple eyes stared skyward, unseeing. There was a sudden peacefulness to his face that it had never held in life, features slack, the fight gone. A thin trail of blood slipped from his lips, and Lyanna wiped it away, as tenderly as she could.

 

Dany was inconsolable. Viserys has been her last living family, unless you counted Jon, and somehow no-one did. She lay next to his corpse, her arms thrown about it, alternating between sobbing and screaming. Lyanna sent all the men away except for Arthur and Jon. She did not care for diplomacy just then and raised her crossbow at anyone who was not quick enough to leave.

Dead and dying things were all around them. Before he left, Ned had given mercy to a nearby Lannister man who had begged for it. Viserys’ horse had still been alive, but its leg was broken and twisted. It had been Jon who slit its throat, sure as any grown man. When the vultures had come to pick at it, Lyanna raised her crossbow, killing one and scaring the others all away.

When the sun had reached its zenith, Ned rode back alone.

“Can I bring you anything?” He asked.

Lyanna looked over at Dany, “Water, food? I suppose they should build a pyre. Is anyone dealing with the Tyrells?”

“Oberyn has them in hand.” Said Ned, “Don’t worry about that.”

He wrapped his strong arms about Lyanna’s shoulders and she let herself fall into his embrace.

“I should have been closer, but his thrice-damned Kingsguard…” Said Ned.

Two of the boys had died for Viserys, their armour still bright and unmarred.

“His pauldron, it wasn’t tied on right. Well, we all got ready in a rush. It took five of them to unhorse him, but when they did it just flew straight off, and was easy enough for someone to stab the dagger right in.” Ned explained.

Lyanna hadn’t really wanted to hear it, but she was Lord Rickard’s daughter of the north, so she said, “He died bravely, then?”

“As brave as anyone I’ve ever seen.” Ned replied. He looked over towards the Tyrells, “If they’d come a few minutes sooner…”

They both stared at Viserys, and Daenerys still holding him.

“We can’t… what if.” Lyanna said.

“Jon will be king?” Ned asked.

“Ned, he’s not even a day dead yet.” Lyanna replied, “Jon’s still a boy.”

Ned shook his head, “I’m sorry. She’ll be ok?”

“She’s stronger than she looks.” Said Lyanna, “But he was her last living family. And more. You know how Targaryens are. She knew she was going to marry him from the moment she knew what marriage was.”

Ned pulled Lyanna a little closer.

“He was the only one who could tell her about her father and not choke on it.” Lyanna continued, “And about her mother too, really. Arthur knew her, of course, but it’s not the same.”

“She’ll want to burn him?” Asked Ned.

“Eventually.” Agreed Lyanna, “It’s what Targaryens do.”

“I’ll set men to collecting wood.” Ned replied, “Don’t worry about anything in the camp. It’s all in hand.”

Lyanna managed to force a brittle smile, “My thanks, brother.”

“Anything.” He said, and Lyanna knew he meant it. Ned would help them tear apart the world again, if she asked for it.

He left them then, and Lyanna went to sit with Arthur, “Ned said he’d organise men to collecting wood.”

“That’s good of him.” Arthur managed. He was nearly as grief stricken as Dany.

Lyanna took his hand.

“I should have been there.” Arthur continued, “I should have insisted on being in his Kingsguard, but when he said he wanted a new one, untainted by betrayal… I was relieved.”- he looked at Lyanna- “Because of you.”

“I’m sorry.” Whispered Lyanna.

“Oh, no, that’s not…”

“Don’t. Either of you.” It was Daenerys who spoke, her head still on Viserys’ breastplate, “He wanted you both to be happy.”

That made them both start sobbing anew, but Lyanna managed to choke hers back, “Dany, Daenerys…”

Dany crossed the space between them and found her way into their embrace. Jon was there too somehow. For a while, they all just clung to each other and sobbed. The grief felt like someone had ripped something vital out of Lyanna’s insides and left her with nothing but an empty space. She could not imagine how much worse it was for Daenerys.

“There will be a pyre.” Lyanna said, “If that’s what you want, Dany?”

“Tonight?” She asked.

“If that’s what you want.” Repeated Lyanna.

“The dragonlords were born of fire.” She said, “And to fire we return.”

Lyanna pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

She looked up, her eyes suddenly as angry as Lyanna had ever seen them, “I will see the Lannisters die screaming for this. Every last one of them.”

Lyanna kissed her head again, “If that’s what you want, you shall have it. House Stark will aid you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've always had a bit of a weird soft spot for Viserys, and I'm sad I had to kill him off- which was part of why this chapter was so hard to write. I know a lot of you were wary of him because in canon he is terrible, but I always felt a lot of that was due to everything he went through as a child/young adult. Instead, in this universe, he grew up with a loving foster family, and was able to take pride in what he could achieve. He wasn't perfect, but he was better for it, and he deserved a better death for it. 
> 
> I really didn't enjoy writing this, or the grief his family feel, but some things have to happen in any universe and Viserys' death will be a catalyst.


	5. A Daenerys Epilogue for a Funeral

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I guess this chapter marks the end of this wild ride of a fic. I think most people who've stuck with it have enjoyed it, but I'd love to hear your thoughts. This is the first multi-chaptered fic I've ever published and I'm honestly so pleased that some people have enjoyed this story! I have so much love for everyone who left a positive comment or kudos- they absolutely made my day!
> 
> There is more to come in this universe, but I'm not exactly sure where the story is going (maybe to the north), so we will see what happens. If you want to talk to me, feel free to hit me up at http://sansastarkisbetterthanyourfaves.tumblr.com/
> 
> Un-beta'd as normal, so all mistakes are mine.

They were building a huge pyre for Viserys. Dany had decreed they would burn him at sundown, and it seemed his men wished to honour him. They loved him in their way, she supposed, their shining dragon king. That had been all he’d ever wanted, the love and the glory. She wanted to ask him if it was worth it, to die so young for the sake of a few months of playing at being king and riding at the head of an army. She wanted to scream at him. She wanted to beg him to come back.

Dany felt half empty and half angry. At times, it felt like the rage was the only thing keeping her from crumbling. She was angry at the Kingsguard knights who hadn’t died with Viserys. They should have given their lives for his. But she was also angry the knights who had died, for not being good enough, or living long enough to save her brother. She was angry at Arthur and Lyanna for not keeping him safe, for not making them stay in Myr. She was angry at Jon, for staying safe in the tent with them, though some distant part of her knew she’d be just as heartbroken at his death.

There was no-one to scream at, though. She’d sent everyone all away and they’d gone. She sat alone in Viserys’ tent, alternately staring at the pyre she could see in the distance and at the dragon eggs he’d thought were his lucky talisman. Some luck they had brought him. If Dany could have smashed them, she would have.

Lyanna came back first. She had found Daenerys a dress of black velvet, without a speck of colour on it. It was made for someone a little older, with a woman’s figure, and Lyanna cursed as she tried to alter it with the help of a patient maid and not enough thread. It was as though they were separate from Dany, behind a pane of glass. She did not speak to them, maybe to keep herself from screaming at them, or maybe to keep from crying. She could not imagine how life would go on, now her brother was dead. What did it matter if her dress fit?

Arthur came as they were finishing the dress and moving to her hair. Somehow, it had become a snarled tangle of old plaits and unbrushed matts. Lyanna tried to be gentle as she pulled through it, but Dany found she liked the sharp tugs of unexpected pain when the comb caught on a particularly stubborn knot. For a moment, the physical pain took her attention from the pain inside.

Arthur tried to speak with her. He tried to apologise for all the things he had not done in the battle, for not being in Viserys’ Kingsgaurd. For not… for not… Viserys had only wanted Arthur and Lyanna to be happy. He’d spent much of her life, when he was not telling her stories of Westeros, of the Red Keep, of their family, telling her how grateful they should be, that Arthur and Lyanna had taken them in and cared for them and kept them safe. He had never said it, but Dany knew he was even more grateful they had followed him across the Narrow Sea.

Dany had nothing to say to Arthur’s apologies, and when the tears filled her eyes began to fall, shining on her cheeks like crystal glass, he retreated.

Jon came, just a little after Arthur had left. His own eyes were red-rimmed and his cheeks pale. He looked ill. If Dany stood aside from herself, separate from the burning agony of her grief and anger, she knew that Jon loved Viserys almost as much as she did. He was only a little older than Dany and could not really remember a time when Viserys had not been there, like an older brother to help teach him swordmanship and pretend to be a dragon for them to ride. Viserys had never lowered himself to play at being a horse but he had always enjoyed pretending to be a dragon for them.

Jon tried to take her hand to comfort her, or perhaps he was seeking to comfort himself. He too, was dressed finely in black velvet, and it struck Dany suddenly that Jon would be king now. All the love and the glory that Viserys had craved so badly would be Jon’s now. She snatched her hand away and stared at the dragon eggs, determinedly not meeting his eyes. Lyanna ushered him gently from the tent and returned to arranging Dany’s hair around her crown.

If Jon was crowned with her mother’s crown, the one Viserys had worn, she thought it might kill her. She did not even know where the crown was, but the thought of Jon wearing it suddenly made her feel ill. That been Viserys’ greatest treasure, the one he had risked his life to save from the servants when they were children, the one had guarded all these years.

Being king had always been Viserys’ dream, not Jon’s and it had always been understood in their family that no-one would ever challenge Viserys’ right to be heir. Jon could have done, maybe, but he’d never seemed to want to. He didn’t care about the Seven Kingdoms, not really, not like Viserys had done. It didn’t feel fair.

Others followed Jon. Lord Stark and Sansa, Prince Oberyn, other Dornish lords, all with empty condolences. Viserys had been their king, a gallant young dragon for them to follow. None of them had known him, as Daenerys had known him. A gangly youth training at swords with Arthur and stumbling in the yard. A young man, chasing chickens for their supper. His brittle, straight backed pride, when he had first been able to give Lyanna some coin for the household. The joy in his smile when he could gift Daenerys a new dress. The pain in his voice when he talked of home, for to him, Essos had never been home.

The only one who knew him like that was Daenerys, really. Lyanna and Arthur and Jon might be family, or something like it, but Viserys and Daenerys had belonged to each other in a way that no-one else could understand. Viserys had been hers, all hers, like no-one else in the world was. Lyanna loved her and had cared for her almost as long as Dany could remember, but she was Jon’s mother and Arthur’s wife. Arthur was Lyanna’s, anyone with half an eye and half a brain could tell that. And though Jon had been like a brother to her, they were his parents, more than hers, no matter how much she might have wished it. That had been a private wish. One she had not even told Viserys.

The Lannisters had killed her brother. They’d cut out half her heart. That, she reminded herself, was where her hatred should be directed. Lyanna had promised. The Lannisters would burn.

Lyanna stepped back, her work done as best as she could manage. Daenerys caught sight of herself in Viserys’ Myrish looking glass. In it, she did not look like a living thing, but something made from cold, dead ice, from one of Lyanna’s most terrifying stories. It suited her. She was half dead on the inside too. And one day, the Lannisters would fear her as much as Lyanna feared anything from the cold, dead, ice.

 “It’s time.” Said Lyanna, her voice soft and gentle, “Can you bear it?”

Dany squared her shoulders and set her jaw, “I’m a Targaryen, I can bear anything.”

“My brave, sweet dragongirl.” Lyanna said in reply, “We love you, and Viserys. I don’t think we said it often enough.”

Dany crossed the room to pick up Viserys’ dragon eggs. He’d thought them a sign. Or proof. Or something. He’d thought they gave him luck, but they’d brought him only death. They should go with him, she thought. They should burn too.

“Can you manage?” Asked Lyanna.

Dany nodded, her face a grim, frozen mask.

They walked to the pyre together. Everyone was there, of course. Prince Oberyn, looking unusually sober. Lord Stark, whose face was always grim enough for a funeral. The Tyrells, who Dany did not care about at all, just now. And Jon and Arthur too, and Sansa Stark.

Sansa took her hand and gave it a squeeze, “I’m sorry.”

Sansa had three brothers of her own, all yet living back at her home in the North. It wasn’t fair. Dany had only had only ever had one brother, and now he was dead. She shook her head a little. No, she had had two brothers, but Rhaegar had died before she was even born, so he did not really count. Jon was the only living blood she had left, and they’d never thought of themselves that way. Aunt and nephew.

She felt strange. Part of her was numb and untouchable, but every vein in her body was vibrating like a string on a singer’s harp. Her hands shook, as she carried the dragon eggs over to Viserys’ pyre. She thought she heard someone murmur about the waste. Well, let them. He was a Targaryen King. The last Targaryen King. He deserved them.

One of the Kingsguard offered her a flame. His name was Ser Walton Merryweather, she remembered. His father had served hers as hand, long before she was born, of course. He hadn’t been a very good hand, and had ended up a broken man, exiled to the free cities. His son hadn’t been a very good Kingsguard. Arthur had said they were all too young, but Ser Walton was twenty-four, a man grown and older than Viserys.

She couldn’t even see Viserys, they’d built the pyre so high. She’d wanted to see his face. Kiss his brow. Tell him she loved him, one last time. They’d lain his dead Kingsguard knights beside him, she knew. For a moment, she felt like it should be her, lying there with him. Tears filled her eyes and poured down her cheeks as she lit the pyre.

“My lady!” Ser Walton shrieked.

Dany looked down. She’d stood too close and the flames licked the bottom of her overlong skirt. It didn’t seem to hurt though. Viserys had always told her that fire could not kill a dragon. He’d also said the Targaryens were dragons. Ser Walton was paralysed by indecision. Dany walked deeper into the pyre.

 

And then, suddenly, she was there, sitting in a circle of ash, naked as the day she was born, with three dragons curling about her.

Lyanna was staring down at her, fresh tears in her eyes.

“Dragons.” Said Dany, almost laughing, before she fell into a dead faint.


End file.
